


Choosing

by HeavenlyDisaster



Series: The Wolf and the Bull [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Gendrya - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, post 8x05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-05 11:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18828265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavenlyDisaster/pseuds/HeavenlyDisaster
Summary: Arya Stark leaves King's Landing after the sack and goes to Gendry at Storm's End.  The Hound told her to choose life.





	1. Chapter 1

It only took her three day’s travel from King’s Landing to Storm’s End.  It didn’t help that every so often her head would begin to spin so aggressively that it took all her waning strength to keep herself on her horse.  Nights were hardest.  She was exhausted in every sense of the word, but no matter what she did, she couldn’t sleep.

The faces of the woman and her child wouldn’t leave her mind.  She couldn’t save them.  She couldn’t save anyone.  After a few short hours of trying to rest, Arya would climb back onto her horse and continue on down the road.

It wasn’t until she reached the gates of the holdfast that it occurred to her that he might not even be there.  Her stomach twisted with fear.  She prayed to every god she could think of that he hadn’t gone to King’s Landing.  That he wasn’t part of the ashes.

Her vision was going blurry again.  She had no idea if it was something to do with how hard she’d hit her head or if it was because she hadn’t slept.  She urged her horse through the gates despite the shouts from guards to stop and state her name.  She only stopped when her horse was surrounded and she had nowhere to go.

She squinted down at the faces around her.  Searching.  Searching.

“Gendry,” she asked, astounded to hear what her voice sounded like.  Raspy and dry and rough.  “I’m looking,” she was panting.  Just speaking was taking her breath away.  “I’m looking for….”

She heard her name from miles away.  It was him.  He was here.  Alive.  Alive.  She leaned toward his voice.

“Gendry.” She managed before she lost her balance on the horse and fell heavily into the mud.  Someone was touching her face.  She shut her eyes.  She was so tired.  She heard the familiar rumble of Gendry’s voice, but she couldn’t work out what he was saying.  She was being pulled away.

Then it was just darkness.  Darkness.

* * *

 

 Gendry arrived at Storm’s End with ten of Jon’s northern men and a promise from Davos that he would arrive within the week for assistance.  During the journey south, the men would take bets as to the state of the holdfast.  It was close to King’s Landing so some of the men thought Cersei might’ve had it sacked.

“We’ll get there and your castle will be naught more than a stack of dusty towers.” Rickard asserted on their way from the harbor.

“Don’t listen to him, Lord Gendry.”  Allyn said at his side.  He had lost his left arm in the Battle for the Dawn.  In fact, all of his borrowed men held injuries from the battle.  It was why they were with him and not Jon.  “He’s just jealous he didn’t get a lordship.”

“Least I’m not a bastard!” Rickard spit back.

Gendry didn’t say anything.  He hadn’t spoken save a few words since they left Winterfell.  Arya had already disappeared by the time he packed to leave.  Off to fight the queen’s war.  Gendry wanted to hate her.  It would make his heartbreak more bearable, but he understood why she’d rejected him.  He knew he never should have proposed in the first place.  He was running high from the events of the days.  She had been right to turn him down.

Knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The castle was still standing when they reached it.  Somehow both nothing like what he imagined and exactly what he thought it would be.  Allyn rode forward to meet the two guards standing at the gate.  They had expected the castle to be abandoned.

Gendry stopped his horse beside Allyn and looked down at the guards.  They gawked up at him in wonder.

“Gods, it’s like looking at Renly’s ghost!” One of them gasped.

Gendry frowned.  He’d never met Renly Baratheon.  He’d never met his own father.  He _had_ met Stannis and he didn’t care for him.  The guards stepped aside and let them enter the holdfast.  A stable boy ran out to grab his horse so he could swing down from the saddle.

“Queen Cersei left Storm’s End to Tyrek Lannister after Stannis Baratheon was killed.” Someone was explaining.  “But he was called away to King’s Landing to fight the Dragon Queen and is not expected to return.”

“Anyone in King’s Landing is good as dead.” Allyn agreed.

“Then his lady will soon be a widow.”  The man said solemnly.  He looked up at Gendry curiously.  “Perhaps –”

“Where’s the smithy?”  Gendry asked before the man could continue.

“What?”

Allyn frowned at the man.  “My lord wants the smithy.”

“Oh, er, well, it’s just over here.” The man led them across the yard.  Gendry stared at him.  He was a small man.  His hair was white and his face was lined with wrinkles.  He wore armor, but it looked like it was mostly for decoration.

Gendry glanced at the wall and grimaced at the crimson banners.  Gendry looked over at Allyn.  “Those should be stags.”  He said, quietly.

Allyn followed Gendry’s line of sight and scowled.  His upper lip curled back with distaste.  “Take those Lannister flags down.”  Allyn barked.  “Where are the Baratheon banners?”

The old man looked over at the banners and nodded quickly.  “Of course, I’ll have them put up straight away.”  He stopped at the entrance to a modest smithy and stood aside so Gendry could step inside.  “Malik!” The man called into the forge.

A smith appeared from the depths of the smithy.  He looked first at the old man then at Gendry and Allyn.  Gendry moved to the first workbench he saw and picked up a half-finished blade.  He turned it in his hand and picked at the metal with his fingernail.  The work was passable.  Master Mott’s had been better.

“Gil, what do you mean by bringing these people here?” Malik demanded.

“This is Lord Gendry Baratheon.  He wanted to see the smithy.”  The old man explained.

“Baratheon?  Thought you were all dead.” Malik said to Gendry.

Gendry frowned at a piece of armor.  “Not me.” He replied.

“What about Lord Lannister?” Malik asked the old man.

“He’ll be dead in two days at the latest.” Allyn answered.

Gendry looked over at Malik.  “Did you do all this?”

Malik spread his arms wide to gesture at the smithy.  “You see anyone else here as can swing a hammer?”

Gendry narrowed his eyes at the man.  He was prideful of only subpar work.  It was no wonder his uncles were dead if this lout was the one arming them.  “Me.”  He answered.

Allyn grinned beside him.  “No one deadlier!” Allyn boasted proudly.  He’d fought beside him against the White Walkers for a little while.

“Would my lord like to see the rest of the castle now?” The old man asked.

He didn’t.  He wanted to pick up a piece or iron or steel and beat at it until it looked how he wanted.  The picture in his mind.  A long, thin sword.  A gift for someone he was unlikely to ever see again.  He gave the old man a short nod and let him lead him out of the smithy and into the castle.

The old man’s name was Gilbert Farring.  He was the castellan of Storm’s End and was in charge of running the keep while his lord was away.  He had a second in command, but he had gone off with the Lord Lannister so he was likely dead, too.  There were two maesters in the stronghold which he thought was odd.  Maester Pylos and Maester Jurne.  Maester Pylos had been Stannis’ in Dragonstone and Maester Jurne had been Renly’s. 

It was quickly divested that Gendry had no experience running a holdfast or being a lord in general.  He also showed very little interest in doing so.  He spent as much time as he could in the smithy.  If the matter was important enough, Gilbert would find him in the smithy and press an answer out of him.

He really wished Ser Davos were there to talk him through these things.  He didn’t know what he was meant to do so he hid in the smithy and did what he knew.  Lord Lannister’s widow would appear at meals.  A pretty, younger woman with fair hair and a round, pregnant belly.  Gendry said nothing to her no matter how she flirted with him.  Her lord husband was dead and Gendry had the power to kick her out of the castle at his earliest whim.

Of course he wouldn’t do that.  She was full pregnant.  Due to deliver any day.  Gendry may not have wanted her there, but he wasn’t about to throw a new mother out onto the road with a squalling infant.  He’d seen too many starving children and desperate mothers to be that heartless.  He did, however move her out of the lord’s chambers to a small room on the other end of the castle.

Well.  _He_ didn’t.  Gilbert Farring did.  Although he pestered Gendry continuously about perhaps wedding the widow and sending her new babe away in favor of babes of his own.  Gendry never responded to these suggestions.  He’d only arrived two weeks before.  It had been less than a month since he’d lost his mind and proposed to Arya.  Less than a month since he’d had her in his arms.  Since he’d tasted her on his tongue.

Gendry was working a new piece of steel when he heard the commotion.  He thought it was nothing more than a brawl between Jon’s Northerners and the Southerners.  He started back to work when he heard his head guard shouting at someone demanding their name and purpose.  Gendry sighed and set his tongs and hammer down to step outside.

She was on a ragged, white horse.  Nothing compared to how worn she looked.  The blood was what struck him.  The gash on her forehead from Winterfell was open anew.  Her eyes were slits and she was swaying on the horse’s back.  Gendry started forward.

“Arya!” He shouted.  She turned toward him.

“Gendry,” he could see her lips move more than he could hear her voice.  Then, she slipped from the horse’s back and plummeted to the ground.  Gendry shoved his way through the men and stopped beside her.

“Arya,” he whispered.  He touched her face.  She was pale.  Too pale.  He scooped her up into his arms and started for the castle.  “I need Jurne and Pylos.” Gendry shouted to anyone listening.

“My lord, who –”

“Get the maesters.” He ordered, continuing up to his rooms with Arya held in his arms.

She had a fever, a concussion, broken ribs, her lungs were filled with ash making it hard for her to breathe.  Maester Pylos set about working on a tonic for her breathing.  Maester Jurne worked on lowering her fever.  Gendry refused to leave her side.  She slept the whole time.

After three days, her fever subsided.  Still, she did not wake.  The measters brought a honeyed mixture to feed her, but Gendry always took the dish from them and fed her himself.  He bathed her himself.  Dressed her himself.  He didn’t want anyone else seeing her.  Arya was a private person.

“A raven from Winterfell, My Lord.” Gilbert said after a week.  Gendry pet Arya’s hair back from her forehead.

“Sansa?”  It wasn’t really a question.  He knew already.

“The Lady of Winterfell, yes.  She’s inquiring as to the health of her sister.  She’s also curious as to why she came here instead of returning to Winterfell.”

Gendry covered his eyes with one hand, the other remained in place on Arya’s.  “Tell her the fever broke and we’re still waiting for her to wake up.” Gendry said.  “Tell her I’ll keep her informed of any changes.”

“And the second question?” Gilbert pressed, hesitantly.

Gendry glared at the man.  “When she wakes up, we can ask.”

Gilbert nodded dutifully and went to his task.  Gendry bent his head and pressed his lips to the back of Arya’s hand.  “Please, Arya.  I’ve never begged for anything.  I’ve never even begged for my life.  I never thought it was worth much in the first place.  Always figured I’d die young just like almost everyone else in Fleabottom.  But I’m begging you to live.  You’re not me.  Your life is worth so much.  So much.”  Gendry sniffled and dashed away a few stray tears with the back of his hand.  “Please, Arya, I need you to open your eyes.  I need you to live because if you die my life really will be worthless.

“Everyone has a destiny, right?  Some people’s destiny is just to die.  Like Beric.  He died loads of times and it only stuck once.  Well, I never knew mine.  I thought it really was just to die.  I was a lowborn bastard fool.  That’s all I ever would’ve been if I hadn’t met you.  That’s what my destiny is.  You.  I was born to love you and I do.  I love you so much, Arya.  I loved you when you were a scrawny little scrapper picking fights with Hot Pie and Lommy.” Gendry gave a small chuckle at the memory.  “I loved you in Harrenhal when I was working for the enemy.  I loved you in that cave with the Brotherhood.  I loved you the second you stepped into the forge in Winterfell.  I loved you my whole life so if you die….” Gendry had to stop and take a few shaky breaths before he could continue.  “If you die, what the hell is it all for?  What the hell is my life for?  It’s all I was meant to do.  So please, _please_ you have to open your eyes.”

Arya’s eyes stayed shut.  Her breathing slow and even.  Leagues better than when she’d arrived with ash in her lungs.  Gendry dropped his head onto his arm and cried.

She’d been sleeping for a week.  Jurne and Pylos wouldn’t tell him straight out, they were afraid of him, but he heard them whispering about what a bad sign that was.  Allyn came at noon every day and tried to talk him into leaving her side.

“She beat death once,” Allyn said gently.  “She can do it again.”

“More than once.” Gendry said in a heavy voice.  “She’s done it so often.”

“You should come down and eat.” Allyn suggested again.

Gendry shook his head.  “No, they can bring my food up here.”

“Jon’s coming, you know.” Allyn reported.  “After….”

“I don’t want to think about that now.” Gendry said.  He was so tired.

Allyn stood there for a while longer saying nothing.  He cared about Arya, too.  Gendry knew that.  All of the Northerners did.  Anyone who fought in the Battle for the Dawn cared about Arya.  She was the Bringer of the Dawn.  She was a hero.  No one liked to see their heroes like this.

The widow gave birth that night.  A girl.  Gendry had no choice but to leave her side then.  His hand ached to touch her again.  Gendry looked down at the baby in the wet nurse’s arms.  She had next to no hair and what she did have was so fair it disappeared against her reddened skin.  Gendry congratulated the widow dutifully.

“Her name is Lia.  After my mother.” The widow told him.  “Do you want to hold her?”

Gendry stared at the baby, sleeping soundly against the nurse’s full chest.  Gendry shook his head.  “No.  I should… I should be getting back.”

Gendry hurried out of the birthing room and back to his chambers.

* * *

 

 Arya opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds.  She blinked and pulled herself upright.  The blankets were cloth not fur.  Yellow, not grey or white.  She looked around.  The fire was going, but it was only embers.  No Northerner would let their fire burn down like that.  Especially not in winter.

 _Where the hell am I_? She pushed the blankets back and tried to fight the alarm at finding herself in a nightshirt she did not put on herself.

She took a slow breath and searched her memories.  She remembered King’s Landing.  The fire. The blood.  The chaos.  She remembered finding the horse and riding away.  Most of the trip afterward was lost to her.  She wasn’t in the North.  She couldn’t even remember starting North.  She hadn’t planned on making it out of the capital.  She thought she would die in the same place her father, uncle, and grandfather had died.  Instead, she was in a holdfast somewhere.

Somewhere she thought she should know.  The woman’s face appeared in her mind.  The short hair.  The little girl.  The fire raining down on them as Arya hid away.  The bodies turned to ash.  The streets filled with broken buildings.  Things Arya had wished for once.  After Joffrey had executed her father.  Arya had wished for the city to crumble into dust.  It had taken a while, but the gods had answered her wish.  Now she wished they hadn’t.

The door opened.  Arya rolled up onto her feet on the bed.  She had no weapons.  She didn’t even know where her clothes were.  But she could still fight.  Claw out their eyes if she had to.

Gendry stared at her wide eyed and slack jawed.  Arya felt tears hot on her cheeks.  She took two great steps to the end of the bed and threw herself at him.  Gendry caught her easily, his strong arms tight around her back.  It hurt, but she didn’t want him to let go.

“Gendry!” She gasped.  Then she said it a few more times because it was all she could think.  Gendry held her to him, one hand cupped the back of her head.  The other locked around her waist.  After a minute or two, he set her down.

Arya took a few deep breaths in an effort to collect herself.  She was crying and couldn’t stop now that she knew she was safe.  Gendry pulled her back to the bed and sat her down.  She didn’t resist.

“J-Jon?” She worked out through a sob.

“He’s fine.  I won’t lie.  A lot has happened since the sack.” Gendry explained.

Arya nodded.  “And San–” Arya gasped back a sob.  She should know this already.  “San–”

“Sansa?  She’s fine.  She’s still in Winterfell with Bran.”

Arya shook her head.  “The Hound?”

Gendry frowned.  He looked down and shook his head.  “I’m sorry.  They found him outside the Red Keep with his brother.  Or… what used to be the Red Keep and what used to be his brother.”

A sob wrenched its way out of her chest.  “He sent me away.” She managed.  “He told me to go home.  He told me….” Gendry’s arms were around her again.  He was shushing her and rocking her slowly like she was a child.  It should have made her mad, but she only found comfort in it.  “They all died.  I tried.  I _tried_ to save them.  I tried to save the girl.  The mother asked me to, but she wouldn’t _come_ and I didn’t go back for her.”  Arya sobbed again.  “I didn’t.  The dragon came and I hid.  I _hid_.  Like I hid at the Twins.  Like I hid when they killed my father.  Like when they had you at Harrenhal.  I did _nothing_!  I did nothing!  What the hell was I training for?  I couldn’t save _any of them_!”

“You saved me.” Gendry told her.

“What does it matter that I killed the Night King?  Tens of thousands of people burned to death anyway.” Arya said, bitterly.

“I don’t mean with the Night King.  I mean back when we met.  You saved me.”

Arya pushed herself back to look at Gendry.  “What are you talking about?”

“The Gold Cloaks were looking for me, remember?  They attacked us on the way to the Wall and demanded to know where I was.  You lied and said Lommy was me.  You saved me that night and every day I’m alive is because of you.”

Arya sniffled and gave a little shake.  “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is.” He insisted.  “You were up against a dragon, Arya.  You’re lucky you made it out alive.”

They fell into silence.  Gendry kept his arms around her.  She cried in sporadic fits she could neither predict nor control.  They both fell asleep again, this time in each other’s arms.

When they woke up again, Arya was starving.  She sat up and stretched.  Her ribs hurt with the slightest movement.  She grimaced and tried to find the least painful position.  Gendry was watching her.  Concern was clear on his face.  He was so open.  Every emotion shone on his face.

“Is there anything to eat?” Arya asked.

Gendry smiled and nodded.  He stood up and went to the wardrobe across the room.  He pulled out a tunic and a pair of pants.  Neither of which belonged to her.  He passed them to her anyway.

Arya dressed silently, reminded of the last time she’d dressed in front of him.  In the storeroom in Winterfell.  The pants were loose even tied as tight as they’d go.  The tunic was too large.  She ended up dressed like she had been after Yoren had found her in King’s Landing.  Like a boy.  One look at Gendry told her he was thinking the same thing.

“How long was I sleeping?” She asked as they stepped out into the corridor.

“Twelve and a half days.” Gendry answered quickly.

Arya balked.  “Almost two weeks?”

“You were nearly dead by the time you got here.  No one could figure out how you managed it.  They think you’re some sort of war goddess.”  Gendry explained.

“No.  I’m nothing like that.” Arya said seriously.

Gendry gave her hand a squeeze and let it go.  They reached the feast hall.  Larger than the one in Winterfell.  Where Winterfell’s feast hall was long, Storm’s End’s hall was round.  An enormous circle in the middle of the holdfast’s singular tower.  There was room for more people, but it was mostly empty save a few servants.  Arya let Gendry lead her to the head table, the only one not shoved against the walls.  He watched her sit down so she tried to keep the pained expression off her face.

“Bring us something to eat, please.” Gendry called to one of the servants.

The girl nodded, gave a bow, and scurried off to the kitchens.  Arya looked at Gendry and smiled.  A panicked look came over his face.  He looked around the room and back at her.  His cheeks were turning pink.

“What?” He asked.

Arya shook her head, still smiling.  “Nothing.  … _Lord_ Gendry.”

Gendry flushed deeply and looked down at the table.  “Shut up.” He mumbled.

Arya licked her lips excitedly.  “As you wish, _M’lord_.” She teased.

Gendry dropped his head into his hands in an effort to hide his embarrassment.  A man entered the hall.  Arya turned away from Gendry and looked at him.  He was a Northerner.  She could tell straight away.  He was missing his left arm.  A fairly recent injury.  The Battle for the Dawn, she figured.

“Princess Arya, you’re awake!” The man cried.  He bent his knee and bowed to her.  Arya scrunched her face up at the man.

“Excuse me?” She demanded of him.

The man raised his head to her.  He looked between her and Gendry.  “You haven’t heard?”

Arya looked at Gendry.  He was glaring hard at the one-armed man.  Arya smacked his chest.  He looked down at her and grimaced.

“Jon’s King.” He explained.

Arya let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair, wincing slightly at the ache in her ribs.  “A Targaryen sits the throne again.” She mumbled.  “Figured it was going to be something like that.”

Servants entered with platters of food.  Arya’s stomach rumbled excitedly.  She reached for the first thing she could see and shoved it in her mouth. 

“You already knew?” Gendry said.

“He didn’t want it.” Arya said.  She filled her plate with as much as would fit.

“Slow down, Arry, food’s not going anywhere.” Gendry laughed.

“Is that a command, _Lord_ Gendry?” She said around a mouthful of meat.

Gendry rolled his eyes.  “I just don’t want you to choke.  You just spent nearly two weeks in bed.”

Arya shrugged indifferently.  Even eating hurt her ribs.  Like she was breaking her bones outward.

“Princess Arya,” the man started.

“Don’t call me that.” Arya growled.

“Er… My Lady,” Arya rolled her eyes at the title, but didn’t argue again.  “Your sister wrote a week ago asking about you.  She was wondering why it is you came here instead of heading back to Winterfell.”

Arya swallowed the food in her mouth and glanced at Gendry.  He looked away, pretending to see something curious in the hall’s rafters.  She frowned down at her plate.

“Storm’s End is closer to King’s Landing than Winterfell.  I wasn’t suited to a long journey in my condition so I came here instead.”  Arya answered.

The one armed man nodded in understanding.  “And now you’re recovered should I write and tell your sister to expect you soon?”

Arya chewed at her lip.  She glanced at Gendry again, but he still wasn’t looking at her.  She cleared her throat.  “I can write my sister myself.”  She told the man.

He looked at Gendry uncertainly.  Gendry met the man’s eyes and shifted in his seat.  He furrowed his brow in that way that always meant he was thinking hard.

“Of course, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you wish.” Gendry said.  Then hastily added, “Lady Arya.”

She kicked him under the table somewhat reflexively.  “Thank you, My Lord.”

It felt like they were children playing a game.  Not one of the fun ones that she used to play with the boys, but the ones Sansa used to play.  Two kids playing castle.

No sooner had the one armed man taken his leave, than an older man appeared.  Arya looked him up and down.  He wasn’t a northman.  She went back to her eating.  She was starving. 

“So glad to see you up and about, Princess Arya.” The man said.  Arya glared at him.

“Arya, this is Gilbert Farring.  My castellan.” Gendry said, quickly.

“A great pleasure to meet you, Princess.  I have heard a great deal about you from your family’s bannermen.  You are something of a legend though you gave us quite a fright the way you showed up.” Gilbert Farring told her.

“If I was rude, I apologize.  I wasn’t feeling myself.” She said, politely.  Still playing at castle.

Gilbert smiled and shook his head.  “Think nothing of it, Princess.”

Arya opened her mouth to snap at him for the title, but Gendry’s voice came out instead.  “Have Pylos and Jurne been told she is awake yet?”

Gilbert nodded.  “I have some servants setting up a chamber for her near the Curtain Wall.”

“No.” Gendry said, quickly.  Arya looked at him curiously.  He blushed.  “I mean….”  Gendry didn’t finish saying what he meant.  He just slumped down in his chair and covered his mouth and nose with his hand.

“There aren’t windows on the seaward side, are there?” Arya asked, remembering what she’d been told about Storm’s End.  Robert Baratheon, for all his faults had, once been her father’s best friend.

“No, Princess.” Gilbert confirmed.

“Then I’d prefer a room there.”

Gilbert gave her an appeasing smile.  “Princess, the only rooms on that side are the kitchens and the dungeons.” He explained as if he were explaining it to a child.

“So prepare a cell in the dungeon.” Arya told him dryly.

Gilbert’s eyes went wide and he looked to Gendry frantically.  Gendry was shaking his big shoulders beside her.  He glanced between Gilbert and Arya and burst out laughing.  Arya smacked him in the back of the head.  It had little effect. 

“Idiot.” She accused.

Gendry cleared his throat and sobered.  His face was red from laughing.  Arya liked the way he looked when he was flushed.  She liked the way he looked working a piece of steel in the forge, too, but a giddy Gendry was just as nice.

“Do as the lady says.” Gendry told his castellan.

Gilbert left flabbergasted to see to a cell in the dungeons being outfitted as a lady’s chamber.  Arya finished eating and stood up.  Gendry leapt to his feet and held his hands out uselessly.  Arya took his hand and pulled him back the way they’d come.

“Alright, My Lord, show me your castle.”

* * *

 

 Arya was different.  Every so often, she would shut herself inside her makeshift bed chamber on the seaward side and wouldn’t speak for a day or two.  The first time it happened, Gendry was concerned.  He fretted away in the smithy until she finally revealed herself.  It had grown less frequent in recent weeks and Gendry thought she might finally be feeling better.

He had been hesitant for her to meet the widow.  They were still Lannisters even if the lord was dead.  He should have known better.  Arya took a shine to them both almost immediately.  She tucked Little Lia into her arms and smiled down at the babe.  The sight made Gendry’s heart ache.  War and carnage hadn’t done anything to dispel the love he felt for her.

Gendry had gone back to his usual routine for the most part.  He worked in the smithy most of the day, stopping only when Gilbert or Allyn appeared to remind him of his lordly duties.  Then he would scratch his head and mumble some semblance of an answer and go back to work.

Arya appeared in his forge after a month or so.  He could feel her eyes on him as he worked.  He peeked up at her.  She licked her lip before catching it between her teeth and arching her eyebrow at him.  He barely stopped himself from slamming her against the wall and taking her then and there.

“My Lord, we have to discuss the matters of rent.  If we keep things as they stand, we will begin losing income.”  Gilbert stopped and stared at Arya.  Clearly surprised to see her there.

“Why are you losing income?” Arya asked.

Gendry’s brows shot up.  He hadn’t thought to ask why.  He just trusted they were.  Gilbert looked between Gendry and Arya.  Gendry nodded at him to answer the question.

“Wars cost more than money, My Lady.”  Gilbert had learned not to call Arya Princess before dinner that first day.  “The farmers who rented the land have died.  The fields have become barren.  Farms sit decaying from disuse.  Without tenants to pay the rent or farm the fields, Storm’s End is losing revenue.”

Arya frowned.  He knew she was thinking about all the innocents she couldn’t save.

“What do you suggest?” Gendry asked his castellan.

Gilbert shuffled a few papers in his arms.  “I suggest we raise the rent on our surviving tenants to make up for the losses.  We’ve left it at five gold dragons before and after every harvest.  I suggest we raise it to fifteen.”

“You can’t do that.” Arya said.

Gilbert glared at her.  She met his stare evenly.

“These are matters for men and lords, My _Lady_.” Gilbert said.

“I’ve killed men bigger, tougher, and smarter than you, Gil.” Arya warned.  “If you raise the rents that much, your people won’t have enough money left over to feed themselves.  You may not have many tenants now, but if you raise the rents you won’t have any because the ones that are left will have starved to death.”

“You have a better idea?” Gendry asked interestedly.

Arya frowned.  “Well, no.” She admitted.

Gendry nodded.  “Let me think on it.” He told his castellan.

Gilbert left no doubt angry at having been told off by someone so small.  Gendry set his tongs on his workbench and walked over to Arya.  She put her hand over her ribs and frowned.  Gendry tipped his head at her.

“Are your ribs still hurting you?” He asked.

Arya shook her head.  “No, I probably just had some bad fish or something.”

Gendry wanted to touch her.  He wanted to kiss her.  He held his hands behind his back.  Arya looked up at him seriously.

“Sansa wrote me.” She told him.  “She wants me to go back to Winterfell.”

Gendry felt his throat tighten.  He tried for a smile and nodded.  “Well, she’s probably feeling a bit lonely.  Bran’s her only company right now.”

“She said Bran told her something she doesn’t want to believe and she’ll only tell me what it was if I go back.”

Gendry frowned.  “She thinks she needs to bribe you to get you back home?”

Arya opened her mouth, paused, and decided against whatever it was she was going to say.  She looked down at his chest.  He was only in a dirty undershirt.  He watched her swallow.  Her eyes went back to his.  He settled his hand on her waist.  Her hand went to his chest and slid up until she could pull his head down to hers.

Gendry breathed in as he kissed her.  He tugged her closer and deepened the kiss.  Arya was pulling at him.  Pawing at him.  He grabbed her hands and pushed her back.  Arya stared up at him with her wide, grey eyes.  They weren’t on their way to death now.  And they weren’t married.  Everything about it was a bad idea, but Gendry couldn’t say no to her.

He took her to his rooms.  Back to the bed she lay in for two weeks while he worried she might die.  Gendry pulled her tunic off and kissed her again.  Arya pressed herself against him, her legs wrapped around his waist.  He stroked her cheek softly, touching her everywhere. 

“The wars are over.” She said quietly. 

“Hmm?” Gendry reached over and brushed some of her hair from her face.  “They have been for a few weeks now.  Unless some other wannabe king or queen appears from the dust.”

“That’s what I’m saying.  Why can’t we just get new farmers into the houses?  Let them work the fields.”  Arya explained.

Gendry frowned at her.  “New workers from where?”

Arya shrugged.  “Anywhere.  They just need to pay the first year’s rent anyway.”

Gendry sighed.  “You are way better at this lordly business than I am.”  He told her.

She smiled at him.  “You just need practice.”

Gendry leaned over and kissed her slowly.  She sighed against his mouth giving him the chance to dip his tongue into her mouth to taste her.  She responded passionately.  She grabbed his face between her hands and kissed him back vigorously.  It made Gendry chuckle.

“I love you.” He said before he could stop himself.

Arya froze.  She leaned back and looked at him.  Gendry dropped his gaze.  He kept fucking it up.

“I love you, too.”

Gendry’s eyes snapped back to hers.  His heart nearly stopped.

“You do?”

Arya smiled tenderly at him and pet his cheek.  “Always have.  Even when I was just Arry the orphan boy.”

Gendry grinned and bent to kiss her again.  “You were never a boy.”

“Good thing, too.”

Gendry frowned.  “Why do they have to pay rent before they’ve even harvested anything?” Gendry mused.  “The farms are all falling to ruin anyway.  If they fix them back up that should pay first rent and then they can pay the other half once they’ve sold their harvest.  Right?”  Gendry reasoned.  “Or is that stupid?”

Arya smiled at him.  “It’s not stupid.  You should ask Gil if there is enough in the castle stores to last a year or two on what you have.”

Gendry dropped his head onto her naked chest and groaned.  “I don’t want to.”

Arya laughed at him.  “Don’t be a baby.”

Gendry looked up at her and stuck his bottom lip out in a pout.  “Come with me?”

“What do you mean?”

Gendry rolled over and flopped onto his back.  “Well, it’s half your idea anyway.”

“You want me to talk to your castellan with you about matters concerning your holdfast?”  Arya said like he was asking for something absurd.

“Fine.  I’m terrible at this.  I know.  I never would’ve thought of this is you weren’t there when Gilbert was ambushing me.”

Arya laughed again.  “Ambushed?  He found you where you always are and asked you to do your job.”

“Davos was supposed to be here helping me do this all, you know?” Gendry told her.  “Said he would and where is he now?”

“How about I write to Jon?  I’ll tell him to send some of their homeless here for work.” Arya offered.

“Dunno how you do it.” Gendry told her.

“Do what?”

“Everything.  You do everything so easily.  Running a holdfast?  Piece of cake for you.  Killing the Night King?  No problem.  Writing a letter?  Whatever.”  Gendry sighed and looked at her again.  “You should be with someone better than me.”

“Better than you?” Arya repeated.  She sat up and looked down at him.  “Gendry, there _is_ no one better than you.”

His heart swelled at her words.  Then it broke all over again when he remembered that she would not have him.  In bed?  Sure.  But she wouldn’t have him to wed. 

“It isn’t enough, is it?” He said softly.

Grief filled her face.  She leaned down and kissed him again.  It reminded him of the kiss she’d given him before she’d disappeared.  Sad.  Lonely.  Distant.

“Do you remember what you said to me the night of the feast?” She asked.

Gendry shut his eyes to her.  “I could never forget.”

“Sandor told me to choose life.  When I left King’s Landing that was me trying to survive.  But when I rode here instead of trying to get back to Winterfell that was me choosing life.  I could leave for Winterfell any time I want.  Do you know why I don’t?”

Gendry swallowed hard.  He didn’t like to think about her leaving.  “You’re waiting until you’re fully recovered.  Shouldn’t try for a long voyage in your condition.”

Arya shook her head.  “No, you stupid bull.  I haven’t left because none of it; choosing life, killing the Night King, learning how to protect the people I love, none of it means anything if you’re not with me.”

Gendry felt his heart in his throat.

“So be with me?” She asked more hesitantly.

Gendry crushed his mouth to hers.

* * *

 

 

_“Dear Sansa,_

_I think I know what Bran told you.  That’s why I don’t think it will come as a surprise when I tell you I won’t be coming back to Winterfell for a while.  You are, of course, welcome to visit me at Storm’s End.  Jon is coming in a month.  He doesn’t know.  Gendry doesn’t know for that matter.  And I have sworn the maesters to secrecy._

_Don’t worry about me.  I’m happy._

_Arya Stark”_

Arya settled her hand over her stomach.  She was regaled as a hero even more so than Jon.  She was the killer of the Night King.  She was the bringer of the dawn.  They sang songs about her in the same they would sing songs about the same way they sang about the Age of Heroes.  Her child had been with her through it all.  Through the worst of it.  Pylos didn’t think it was possible, but she was more than two months along.

She rolled up the scroll and handed it to Jurne.  He attached it to a raven and sent it on its way.  Arya watched it fly North.  She remembered something Tyrion had said about her mother and his sister.  They both loved their children.  They both would have done anything to protect them.  Arya would learn from their mistakes.

She would protect her child for as long as it needed her, but she would also make sure that it learned to protect itself.  Gendry would protect it, too.  She had no doubt in her mind.  As soon as she told him, she expected him to disappear into his forge and come out with some ridiculous armor for her to wear for the duration.

“The sooner you are married, the better.” Jurne reminded her.  “Soon there will be no hiding it.”

“Maybe I should write Jon again.”  She said.

She picked up a piece of paper and scrawled a short note to her brother before rolling it up and handing it to Jurne.  She smiled.

“He should be here before the week is up.”  She announced before heading back down the stairs to the lord’s chambers. 

Horns sounded four days later.  Gendry picked up his Warhammer and started for the gates just as Jon charged through the gates on the Curtain Wall.  He didn’t wait for the stable boy to steady his horse before he bounded out of his saddle and hurried toward her.

He pulled her into a crushing hug before pushing her back and looking her over.  “What happened?  Are you alright?”

Arya smiled at him.  “I’m fine.  You sure took your time getting here.”

Jon’s face fell.  He dug into his pocket and pulled out her letter.  “What the hell is this?” He demanded.

Arya looked down at it.

_Jon,_

_I need help.  Please hurry._

_Arya_

“Oh.  That.” She said as if she’d forgotten about it.  “I didn’t pull you away from anything important, did I, Your Majesty?”

“My King.” Gendry said, dropping his Warhammer and going to his knee.  Arya looked at him and gasped.  She dropped down to her knee, too, and bowed her head.

“Not you, too!” Jon cried.  “Get up!  Both of you!  Get up!”

Arya got to her feet and felt her stomach give a lurch.  She masked it away and grinned at Jon.  “So bossy now you’re a king.”  She teased.

“You, watch it.” Jon warned.  He turned to Gendry and shook his hand with a smile.  “Lord Baratheon.”

“King Jon.” Gendry returned.  “I wasn’t expecting you until next month.”

Jon looked pointedly at Arya.  “Show him what you sent me.”

Arya glared at her brother and handed her note to Gendry.  Gendry squinted down at the words.  She could hear him sounding out the words under his breath.  He jerked his head up and looked at Arya bewildered.

“What happened?” He asked in clear panic.

Arya rolled her eyes at him and snatched the note away.  “Nothing happened.” She told him.  “Yet.”

“Yet?” Jon and Gendry said at the same time.  They exchanged a look before staring back down at Arya.

“Maybe we should go inside?” Jon suggested.

Gendry nodded and led the way into the Round Hall.  Jon looked around impressed.  The room was brighter now than when Arya had first seen it.  The whole castle was brighter.  Arya frowned as the rest of Jon’s King’s Guard trampled into the room.

“I think it should be the study.” She suggested.  Gendry looked at her and swallowed nervously.  He glanced at Jon and back at her.

“I see you still have Longclaw.” Gendry said as they walked up the staircase to the study. 

“And you still have your hammer.” Jon returned, obliviously.  “And you’re still working a forge going by the state of you.”

“Keeps my head clear.” He admitted.

Arya stepped inside the study and found her favorite seat by the window overlooking the fields.  Gendry offered Jon his seat and went to stand by the desk.  Jon squinted between the two of them.  Arya wondered if he had figured them out yet. 

“You look better.” Jon told Arya.  “I was told you had a fever.  You didn’t wake up for weeks.”

“Twelve days.” Arya corrected.

“You feel better now, though?”

Arya nodded.

“Sansa’s worried about you.  She said Bran told her something about you that worried her, but she wouldn’t tell me what it was.  Did she tell you?”

“No.  She told me about Bran’s… vision, but she didn’t tell me what it was.”

Jon sighed and nodded.  “I expect she’ll tell you when you get back home.”

He looked at Gendry.  “Thank you for looking after her.  I know you’ve probably had a lot to do here anyway.  I’m just glad she had somewhere to heal.”

Gendry nodded, his mouth hanging open as he tried out the right words.  Arya smiled.

“Davos sends his regards.  I left him behind to oversee things.  He would have been with me next month.” Jon assured his friend.

“Right, well, that’s more important anyway.” Gendry answered.

“Jon?” Arya started.  “I’m not planning on going back to Winterfell right now.”

Jon stared at her.  “Where do you plan on going?”

Arya ran her fingers up and down the leather of the armrest.  “I’m going to stay here.”

Jon squinted at her.  “Here in Storm’s End?  Why?”

Gendry cleared his throat, but when Jon looked at him he blushed and stared at his feet.  Arya sighed and crossed her arms, waiting.  Gendry glanced up at her and grimaced.  He cleared his throat again and shuffled his feet.

“We want to get married.” Gendry confessed.

Jon was quiet.  Arya watched the gears turn in her brother’s head.  He looked from Gendry to Arya.

“You want to be married?” Jon asked incredulously.  “ _You_?”

“Well, we would’ve been already if the damned bull hadn’t been so stubborn.” Arya said, glaring at Gendry without animosity.  He smirked back.

“What bull?”

Arya waved her hand at Gendry.

Jon pointed at him and leaned toward Arya.  “House Baratheon’s sigil is a stag, not a bull.”

“Bastards don’t have sigils.” Gendry said from his spot by the desk.

“He made one up for himself.  Isn’t that sweet?” Arya cooed.  Gendry rolled his eyes at her.

“How do you know that?”

Arya looked at Gendry.  “I thought you said you were friends.  You didn’t tell him about me?”

Gendry looked between the two stammering wildly.  “I – I didn’t…. You weren’t – _we_ weren’t, uh….”  He shook his head as if clearing away all the stray thoughts.  He took a breath.  “I met Arya at King’s Landing when she was dressed as a boy.  Yoren was taking me to the Wall and her home to Winterfell.  We, uh, didn’t make it.”

Jon sat back and stared at a spot on the floor.  She watched his face as he processed.  His dark eyebrows lifted up and he shook his head.  “So those rumors were true, then.”

“Rumors?”  Arya repeated.

Jon nodded.  “Something about you and one of the smiths.  I think the exact wording was, ‘toying with him’ I just figured it was about a weapon.”

“Tomorrow.” Arya said, standing up.  “We want to be married tomorrow.”

Jon snorted and shook his head.  “Tomorrow, she says.  I haven’t even given my blessing.”

Arya stared at him coldly.  “You haven’t given your _what_?”

Jon scowled at her and got to his feet to match her.  “My _blessing_.  I haven’t agreed to it.”

“Are _you_ getting married to him?”

“Arya, this is not how these things are done!”

“When have I _ever_ done things how they were meant to be done?” Arya challenged.

“Just this _once_ can you listen to me?” Jon begged.

“If I had listened to you in Winterfell, we’d all be White Walkers right now.  ‘Stay with Sansa in the crypt’ you said.”

“This is not that!” Jon argued.  “This is marriage!  What if you have children someday?  What do you think Father would say if he were here?”

Arya stopped and looked over at Gendry.  She smiled as she remembered what her father had said to her.  “Father wouldn’t have said anything.  He would’ve made the match already himself.”

Gendry stared at her in surprise.  His blue eyes shining.

“How do you know?” Jon demanded.

Arya rolled her eyes.  “Has it ever occurred to you that Father may have spent a bit more time talking to his daughters about marriage than his sons?  Besides, I spent more time with him in King’s Landing.”

Jon looked over to Gendry and sighed.  “You really want to marry her?”

Gendry smiled.  “Yes.”

“We should wait for Sansa and Bran to get here.” Jon said resignedly.

Arya shook her head.  “Tomorrow.  Or the end of the week at the latest.”

Jon squinted at her.  “Why?”

Arya looked over at Gendry and chewed at her lip.  “Sansa knows already.  It’s what Bran told her.”

“What does Sansa know?  What did Bran tell her?” Jon demanded.

Arya scrunched up her face.  She sighed in defeat and looked over to meet Gendry’s eyes.  “I’m with child.”

Gendry’s face went ghost white.  He took two great steps over to her and scooped her up.  Arya laughed and kissed him momentarily forgetting Jon was still in the room.  Gendry set her down and rested his forehead against hers, his hands pressed firmly on her flat belly.  She covered his hands with her own.

Jon collapsed back into his chair.  Arya pulled back from Gendry to look at him.  His hand was pulling at his face.  Arya laid her head against Gendry’s chest.  His heart was beating fast.  His excitement made her smile.

“Tomorrow, then, Jon?”  She asserted.  “In the Godswood?”

“It would be…?  During the feast?”  He said slowly.

“What?”

“You wouldn’t know yet.  It had to happen before in Winterfell.”  Jon said.

“You want details?” Arya asked.  Gendry shifted beside her uncomfortably.

Jon looked over at her.  “No.”  He shook his head.  “I don’t want to know.”

“Alright.  Tomorrow, Jon.” Arya told him.

Jon nodded, numbly.  “Tomorrow, Jon.”  He repeated absently.

Arya looked up at Gendry and smiled.  He bent his head and kissed her lightly. 

* * *

 

 “How long have you known?” Gendry asked later when they were alone.  A hard won feat with Jon around.

Arya was sharpening Needle with a whetstone.  Gendry was determined not to baby her now that he knew.  At least, not until they were good and married.  He still worried that he was going to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and she was going to run off back to Winterfell or worse and he would never see her again.  Or their child.

“A week.” She said, settling back into her task.

“A week.” He repeated.  A week was after she told him to wanted to be with him.  So she wanted to be his wife before she knew about the baby.  He smiled to himself.  _Unless she’s lying_.

“You think I care if my child is born a bastard or not?” Arya said evenly.  “I could go to Essos and give it any name I pleased.  No one would check.  Or I could stay here and say the child’s father died in the wars.”  She looked up at him.  “I’m here because I love you.”

Gendry grinned at her.  He was seated at his desk with a ledger before him.  He had long since given up trying to make sense of the scribbles. This time tomorrow, he’d be a married man.  A married man married to Arya Stark.  Arya Stark who was carrying their child in her belly.  His heart felt full enough to burst.

“We probably shouldn’t have any more children after this one.” Gendry said, seriously.

Arya looked up at him again.  Her brow wrinkled together.  “I thought you’d want loads of children.”

Gendry shrugged.  “That was before I knew about this one.”

Arya frowned down at her belly.  “What’s wrong with this one?”  She demanded, already getting defensive.

“They’ve already lived through the Battle for the Dawn _and_ the Battle of King’s Landing.  They’ve been in battles with Night Kings _and_ dragons.  And they haven’t even taken their first breath yet.”  Gendry shrugged.  “It’s an awfully big legacy to live up to for any younger siblings they might have.  That’s just unfair.  Their mother is already a legendary hero.  It would be a shame for them to end up like me.” Gendry joked.

Arya didn’t smile.  She set Needle down beside her and moved over to him.  Gendry felt bad for saying it just looking at her face.  He knew he’d say the wrong thing.  But Arya cupped his face between her hands gently.

“You fought in the Vanguard during the Battle for the Dawn.  You went beyond the Wall and captured the first White Walker to ever see King’s Landing.  You armed me and thousands of other soldiers who would have died otherwise.  When I was broken and bloody and next to death, _you_ sat beside me and nursed me back to life.  If I could choose between us, I would want them to take after you.”

Gendry pulled her into his lap and kissed her nice and slow.  Arya curled herself around him.  He felt her tense around him before she pulled back from their kiss.  She leaned her forehead against his and sighed heavily.  Before he could ask what was wrong, the door opened.

“Seven hells!” Jon crowed.  “You can’t even wait a few more hours?”

Gendry flushed and tried to move Arya off so he could stand, but she wouldn’t budge.  She frowned at Jon.

“I’m already with child.  What more do you think is going to happen?”  She challenged.

Gendry wanted to die.

Jon looked like he wanted to die, too.  He rubbed his eyes and stared at the floor.  “Could you… I just…. I need to talk to Gendry for a minute.”

Gendry’s stomach clenched in fear.  Arya stared at Jon for a few silent seconds.  He thought maybe she was going to refuse to leave.  Instead, she bounced up out of his lap and left, grabbing her sword as she went.

Jon sighed and put his hands on his hips.  He looked around the study as if it were his first time in there.  Gendry tried to think of something to say.  He could still feel Arya everywhere.  He stood and went to the table to fill two cups with wine.  He offered one to Jon who accepted it and drained it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about her being with you on the way to the Wall?” Jon asked.

Gendry frowned into his cup.  “I was ashamed, I suppose.”

“Ashamed?” Jon repeated.  He raised his black brows and gestured at the door with the hand holding his cup.  “Have you been…?”

“No!  No no no no no.” Gendry said quickly.  “No.  Ashamed that I didn’t keep her safe like I was meant to.  Everything bad that’s happened to her since, well, I feel it’s sort of my fault.”

“Dondarrion sold you.  You did what you could and she’s still alive.”

Gendry shook his head and took a drink.  “I was planning to join up with them.  See Arya back to her mother and brother and go our separate ways.  We wouldn’t have been allowed to continue as we were anyway.  Ladies couldn’t be friends with bastard smiths.”  Gendry sat back in his chair.  “Then I thought she was dead.  From hearing about the Red Wedding all the way up to us on the ship to Eastwatch when you told me she was alive.”

Jon nodded.  “Never should’ve gone to Eastwatch.  We never should’ve went north of the Wall after a wight.  Everything would’ve been different.  Probably better.”

“It’s not your fault, Jon.  You couldn’t have known.”

“I could have.  I should have listened to Sansa.  But I didn’t and now I pay the price.” Jon said heavily.

“I’m glad for Daenerys.” Gendry admitted.  “I’d never be able to marry Arya without her.  I never would’ve had a name to give our child.  Those atrocities she committed… she did good things, too.”

“Right, well, about Arya.  I suppose I’m supposed to tell you not to hurt her, but I’m sure you already know that.  And don’t make her angry because she keeps her blades sharp.  And, uh, I’m not a father.  I don’t know if I ever will be a father, but I think you’ll do well.”  Jon reached out and patted him on the shoulder.  “Good luck.”

Gendry smiled.  “I used up all my luck just meeting her.”

Jon laughed at that.  “Keep that mindset.  You’ll be fine.”

* * *

 

 Arya was screaming for him.  Screaming like he’d never heard her scream before.  Gendry pushed his way into the room.  Nursemaids shoved at him desperately.  Gendry deflected them all and surged toward his wife.

“Gendry!” She screamed and he could see the tears wet on her cheeks.

“My Lord, the husbands stay outside the birthing room!”  Maester Jurne reprimanded.

Gendry fixed the man with a heavy stare.  The maester paled and withered under his glare.  Gendry turned and moved to crouch beside Arya.  She grabbed his hand and squeezed harder than Gendry ever imagined she could.  He wouldn’t be holding a hammer for weeks.

“Gods!  How did my mother do this five times?” She cried.

Gendry started to laugh, but swallowed it at the deadly look she gave him.  He looked down her body and regretted it.  Blood covered the bed below her legs.  Gendry’s stomach churned.  Surely there shouldn’t be _that_ much blood.

“Alright, Lady Baratheon,” Maester Jurne said from his place at the foot of the bed.  “Give us one more push and we should be through.”

“We, he says.” Arya said bitterly.  “I don’t see him pushing a person out of _his_ body.”

Gendry smiled and pressed his lips to her sweaty forehead.  “I love you.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him and gave a push.  She let out a gasp and Gendry knew she’d done it.  She flopped back against the pillows and sucked in breaths.  Gendry pressed his forehead to hers.  She lifted her hand and laid it on his cheek so she could kiss him.

The baby crying made them both look away.  A nursemaid took it and cleaned it off in a small tub near the window.  Jurne was still between Arya’s legs.  Arya craned her neck to see around the nursemaid’s rotund body.

“What is it?”  She asked.  “Boy or girl?”

“It’s a boy.”  Jurne told her.

“A boy.” She sighed.

Gendry knew she had wanted a girl.  She’d said as much almost every day after she noticed her belly beginning to grow.  She had only agreed to names for girls.  She like Wenda best even though Gendry had suggested Catelyn.  But Wenda was a warrior. 

“Disappointed?” Gendry asked.

The nursemaid brought him over in a bundle of blankets and laid her in Arya’s arms.  Gendry stared down at his son.  And there was no mistaking it was his son.  A thick crop of dark hair sprouted from the top of his tiny head.  Grey eyes blinked up at them.

“Oh,” Arya murmured staring down at him.

Gendry reached out to run a finger down the baby’s plump cheek.  He yawned and turned into Arya’s chest.  Gendry didn’t think he’d ever fall in love again until he saw his son lying in his wife’s arms.  He couldn’t understand how his father had had so many bastards and just disregarded them all.  Gendry couldn’t imagine leaving this baby if the sky began to fall in on them.

“What do we call him?” Gendry asked.

Arya stared down at him.  “Gendry?”

“Hmm?”

“No, I meant, we could call him Gendry.”

Gendry laughed and shook his head.  “No, we couldn’t.”

“Why not?  I want him to grow up to be just like you.”

Gendry kissed her temple and rested his forehead there.  “What about Eddard?” He offered.

Arya frowned.  “No.”  She said sadly.  “I don’t think I could do that.”

“Alright.  You know this would be a lot easier if you’d let us think of boy names months ago.” He teased.

Arya leaned her head back.  “I thought if I only thought up girl names, we’d get a girl.”

“Look how that worked out.”

Arya smiled.  “We don’t have to decide right now.  He won’t know any better.”

Gendry frowned.  He didn’t like the idea of his son going around without a name, but he conceded.  The nursemaid came and took the baby from Arya’s arms. 

“You need to rest now, M’lady.  You have the rest of your life to hold him.”  The nursemaid promised.

Arya gave a tired nod.  “But don’t make me sleep here.” She said.  “And let me take a bath first.”

Gendry nodded.  “You heard her,” he told one of the servants, “go prepare a bath in the Lord’s chambers.”

Arya smiled up at him.  “You’re getting so good at that.”

He scooped Arya up into his arms ignoring the feel of fresh blood still wet on her legs.  Jurne was packing up a kit near the nursemaid.  He looked over at them, eyes wide.

“Careful now!”

“Its fine, Jurne.”

He carried Arya from the birthing room and up all the stairs to their chambers.  Arya was sleeping on his shoulder by the time he got there.  The bath was half filled when he brought her inside.  It took them only a few minutes longer to fill it the rest of the way.

Gendry pulled her shirt off of her, careful to avoid getting blood on her.  Then he settled her into the tub.  She moaned and sighed at the warm water.  Gendry grabbed a washcloth and cleaned the sweat from her face remembering the last time he’d bathed her.  When she’d come to him less than a year ago covered in blood and dirt and ash half dead.

“Arya?” Gendry whispered.

Arya turned her head toward him but kept her eyes shut.  Gendry leaned forward and kissed her again.  She kissed him back.

“We have a son.” She mumbled.  Gendry smiled.

“We do.”

“I should write Jon and Sansa.”

“I can write them.” Gendry offered. 

Arya smiled.  “You aren’t tired?”

“It’s barely passed noon.”

Arya frowned.  “Then why am I so sleepy?”  She demanded.

Gendry laughed.  “Because you didn’t sleep last night and spent all your energy giving birth to our son.”

Arya smiled again.  “Our son.”

“We could name him after your brother.” Gendry offered.

“Which one?”

“Pick one.”

“Robb?” She frowned.  “No more Robert Baratheons.”

“We could name him after your creepy brother, Brandon.  Brandon Baratheon.”

Arya reached up and covered his mouth with her wet hand.  “He was joking, Bran.  Please don’t look at me while I’m naked.”

Gendry pulled his face away and looked around the room.  “Bran’s not here, Arya.”

Arya shook her head.  “You never know.”

“Rickon?  Rickon Baratheon?”  Gendry said, remembering her youngest brother’s name.

Arya hummed thoughtfully.  She grabbed his shoulder and tried to stand up.  Gendry grabbed her up from the tub and helped her into a fresh nightshirt.  She sighed against the pillows.

“I can breathe lying on my back again.” She marveled.  Gendry laughed.

“What do you think?  Rickon Baratheon?”

Arya frowned and shook her head.  She was quiet for a long while, staring down at her empty belly.  “What about Sandor?” She suggested quietly as if she weren’t sure herself.

“Sandor?  As in Sandor _Clegane_?  The Hound?”  Gendry rubbed his eye.  “Wasn’t he on your list?  You wanted him dead.  I remember very clearly when you tried to kill him.  Next thing you know you’ll be suggesting the name Joffrey.”

Arya eyed him coldly.  “Fine.  Forget I said it.”  She rolled onto her side, putting her back to him.

Gendry touched her shoulder, but she shrugged him off.  Gendry frowned.  He waited until he was certain she was asleep and headed to the study to write up the letters to her siblings.

“Arya?” Gendry asked later that night.

The baby was cradled in her arms suckling her.  She looked up at him, waiting.  She was naked.  He could see the scars along her body new and old. 

“Why do you want to name him Sandor?”

Arya looked down at their son.  She stroked a hand over his black hair and smiled at him.  “The Hound fought for me.  He saved my life.  He protected me.  He cared for me.  I couldn’t protect him.  I went to King’s Landing ready to die.  I wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t told me to leave.  _He_ wouldn’t be here now if he hadn’t.” Arya jostled the baby gently in her arms.  “Sandor Clegane lived his whole life focused on death.  I just think maybe I owe him this life.”

Gendry nodded slowly.  The Hound had been a mean bastard, but he had saved his life more than once.  Gendry sighed.  Just because they would share a name didn’t mean they would share their personalities. 

“Sandor Baratheon.”

“Stark.” Arya said absently.

“What?”

Arya looked up at him and shook her head.  “Nothing.”

Two days later, Sansa Stark arrived in Storm’s End.  Brienne of Tarth and Podrick Payne were with her.  Sansa dismounted and came to greet Gendry.  She smiled at him warmly.  Gendry hadn’t even known Sansa knew who he was until she had started asking him about her sister.

“I only just sent a raven a few days ago.” Gendry told her.

Sansa nodded.  “Bran told me three weeks ago.”

Someone shouted and tackled him from nowhere.  Gendry stared in amazement at Tormund Giantsbane.  He smiled at the wild man.

“I heard you have a little one now.  You dog!  With the slayer of the Night King no less.”

“Where is my sister?” Sansa asked.

Gendry cocked his head back toward Round Hall.  He led them into the room where Arya was coddling Sandor.  Color had come back to her face at last.  She looked up when they entered.  She smiled widely at her sister.

“Do I have to call you Lady Baratheon now?” Sansa said.

Arya frowned at her and narrowed her eyes.  “Don’t you dare.”

Gendry reached his hands down for their son.  Arya deposited him in his waiting arms and stood to hug her sister.  Sansa looked down at the baby with fascination.  Arya smiled proudly.

“What’s his name?”

“Sandor.” Arya reported.

“Sandor.” Sansa repeated.  “Good.  That’s good.”

“I tried to get her to call him Eddard.” Gendry explained, thinking the expression on her face was dissatisfaction.

“Why didn’t you?”

Arya looked at the baby.  “It hurts too much to think that he’ll never get to meet him.  Naming him Eddard would just be a constant reminder.”

Sansa smiled at the baby.  “Father would have _loved_ him.”

“Do you want to hold him?” Gendry offered.

Sansa looked uncertain.  Arya laughed and nudged her sister forward.  “It’s alright.  He doesn’t bite.  He doesn’t even have teeth yet.”

“He’s lovely.” Brienne commented serenely.  Arya looked over at the woman.

“Thank you.”

“I heard childbirth is the most painful experience in the world next to actually dying.” Podrick offered.

Arya tipped her head.  “It was no picnic.”

“I still can’t hold my hammer.” Gendry said.  Gendry held up his hand, faded blue and purple bruises in the shape of Arya’s fingers covered his hand.

“You were in the room with her?” Sansa said, surprised.

Gendry flushed.  “She was screaming….” He muttered.

“It _hurt_.”

Gendry looked up at her.  “I know.  I was just… I couldn’t leave you to scream on your own.  Could I?”

Arya smiled and blushed.  Gendry cleared his throat and looked around at his guests.  He looked over to Gilbert.

“Gil, would you show our guests to their rooms, please?” Gendry asked.

Gilbert inclined his head dutifully.  Sansa handed Sandor back to Arya and followed Brienne and Podrick after Gilbert.  Tormund stayed behind, grinning at Gendry and Arya.  He looked down at the baby warmly.

“Clegane was a good man.”  He said.  “I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you named your son after him.”

Arya snorted.  “He’d be pissed!  He’d scowl and call me an idiot wolf bitch with her idiot wolf pup.  The name suits him.  Pissing off the Hound is just a perk.”

“He’s a stag, though, isn’t he?” Gendry said.

Arya sighed and looked down at their son.  “I suppose we’ll just have to see.”

She turned and started out of the room with the baby in her arms.

“What do you mean by that?” Gendry asked her as she went.  Arya gave a twirl and arched her brow at him.  “Don’t you give me that!  What do you mean we’ll have to see?”

Arya didn’t answer or stop.  Gendry scowled.  He didn’t know why it mattered so much to him that his son be a Baratheon stag more than a Stark wolf.  It wasn’t like he had grown up with a sigil.  His son had two.  That was a good thing.

“Sorry turn of events those wars ended up, eh?” Tormund graveled beside him.  “I heard King Jon is trying to rebuild the city.”

Gendry turned back to face the wildling alarmed to see him bare chested and standing before him.  Gendry looked at his furs he’d dropped on the table.

“You want to be naked, go to your rooms.  Don’t do it here.”

Tormund groaned.  “It’s too hot in the bloody south.  I dunno how you can do it.”

“It’s snowing outside.”  Gendry argued.

“It’s _hot._ ” Tormund insisted.

“Then go be hot in your rooms.”

Tormund grabbed his furs and tucked them under his arm.  “Suppose it’s this hot in the city?”

The widow came in carrying Lia just then.  She looked stunned to see Tormund in the middle of Round Hall half naked.  Lia was sitting up on her own now and looking around with interest.

“Another baby?”  Tormund looked at Gendry.  “That one’s not yours, right?”

Gendry narrowed his eyes at the man.  “Does it _look_ like it’s mine?” He demanded.

Tormund looked between Gendry and the fair haired baby.  He frowned and shook his head.  “Nah, the baby’s prettier.”  Tormund laughed at his own joke and slapped Gendry on the back before making his way towards Gilbert and their rooms.

“I didn’t know you were going to have guests.” The widow said.  “I would have stayed in my room.”

Gendry shook his head.  “It’s fine.  Did you need something, Lady Lannister?”

The widow smiled sadly and shook her head.  “The Lannister name isn’t really worth much these days.  All the fortune dried up.  Lands have been given away to those loyal to the new king.”

“ _I’m_ loyal to the new king.” Gendry reminded her.

She nodded.  Little Lia cooed at him from her mother’s arms.  “I know.  I have no mind for treason.  I only think it is time I find somewhere to raise Lia that isn’t with the people responsible for her father’s death.”

Gendry met the widow’s eyes for one of the first times ever.  “Little Lia’s family is responsible for my father’s death.  The death of my siblings.  Some of them were younger than Lia is now when the Lannisters murdered them.  Lannisters tried to kill me.  Time and again.  Because of who my father was.  Considering all that, wouldn’t you think I have more reason to hate your family than you have cause to hate mine?”

The widow looked abashed now.  She looked away.  “This is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.  Maybe the longest conversation you’ve had with anyone here that isn’t your wife.”

Gendry smiled.  “I think Gilbert has you beat.”

The widow nodded.  “Regardless, I think it’s best I leave Storm’s End.”

Gendry nodded.  “Just don’t leave without letting Arya say goodbye to Lia.”

The widow smiled.  “Still upset Sandor isn’t Wenda?”

Gendry sighed.  “I dunno, I think he’s grown on her.”

* * *

 

 “Winterfell!” Sandor screamed eagerly.  He wriggled on the saddle in front of Gendry until Arya moved over and settled him in front of her and gave him a pinch on his ear.

“Keep up with your squirming and I’m sticking you in the wheelhouse.” Arya warned.  “Calm as still water.”

Sandor stilled in front of her obediently.  She could still feel his excitement as they grew closer.  Arya waited until Gendry dismounted and collected Sandor from the saddle before swinging down herself.

No sooner had Gendry set Sandor on the ground than he bolted toward the Godswood.  Arya groaned and started after him.

“Sandy!” She shouted.

“I wanna see it!  I wanna see!”  He yelled back.

Arya caught him up just before they reached the Weirwood.  She swung him around until he was hanging by his ankles.  Sandor giggled.  He swung himself up so he could grab Arya’s arm and right himself.  His thick, black hair flopped over his eyes.  He kicked away from her, but she caught him again.

“Hello, Arya.”

She looked up at her brother.  A beard had sprouted along his jaw.  His hair was pulled back from his face.  The only thing that seemed unchanged was the wheelchair and that knowing expression on his face.

“Do you _ever_ leave?” She demanded.

Bran gave her a slight smile.  Arya let Sandor go and walked over to hug her brother.  Sandor stood behind her, staring at Bran curiously.  Arya settled her hand on his head.  She ruffled the raven black locks affectionately.

“Can you introduce yourself?”  She asked.  Sandor stared at Bran apprehensively with his big, grey eyes.  She sighed.  “Fear cuts deeper than swords.”

Sandor looked at the ground and nodded.  “My name is Sandy Stark.”  Arya laughed and nudged him with her knee.  “I mean Sandy Baratheon!” He corrected.

“Yes, you’re only Sandy Stark when you’re training with your mother.” Bran agreed.

Sandor’s eyes grew wide.  “How do you know?”

Bran smiled.  “I know everything.”

Sandor frowned.  “Nuh uh.  Do you know how old I am?”

“Six years, one month, and eleven days.”  Bran replied easily.

Sandor looked up at Arya in surprise.  He smiled and looked back at Bran.  “Do you know how many battles I’ve been in?” He asked as if he’d fought in them himself.

“Two.” Bran answered.

Sandor was bouncing up and down on his toes excitedly.  “Do you know I’m a prince?” He demanded.

“Sandor!” Arya berated.

Sandor froze and looked up at his mother and down at the ground.  “I’m not supposed to tell people that.”

“I know.”  Bran told him easily.

Sandor looked up at his uncle then over at his mother.  Arya sighed and nodded at her son.  Sandor gave Bran a small smile.

“My Uncle Jon says he wants me to be his heir since he won’t have any children only Mum doesn’t want me to since kings and queens always die.” Sandor explained.

“Everybody dies.  Kings or not.  Your mother knows that.”

“You mean because she’s a warrior?” Sandor asked.

Bran smiled.  “I mean because she is _the_ warrior.  She’s looked death in the face more times than even she remembers.”

Arya frowned at that.  She remembered all the times she almost died just fine.  Didn’t she?

“Would you like to hear about them, Sandy?” Bran asked Sandor.

“Yes, _please_!” Sandor begged, scrambling onto Bran’s lap.

“I think he’d be more interested to hear about you.  Or Sansa or Jon even.”  Arya said.  “Or you could tell him about his grandfathers.”

Sandor was wide eyed and eager.  “I want to hear about everyone!  Tell me about everyone!” Sandor begged.

Bran thought for a moment and nodded.  “Alright.  Then this story will start North of the Wall with three rangers of the Night’s Watch.”

Gendry was suddenly beside Arya.  He slipped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into his chest.  Sandor had gone still on Bran’s lap.  Rapt with interest.  Sansa came to her other side and gave her hand a squeeze.  Arya smiled up at her sister.  Still so beautiful even after wars, grief, and bloodshed.

“They were hunting wildlings?” Sandor demanded, offended.  “They’re lucky Tormund wasn’t hunting _them_!”

The trio laughed at that and Sandor turned and looked at his father.  He grinned at Sansa, but before he could say anything Bran spoke again.  Sandor’s attention went back to the story.

“Something else was hunting them.” Bran continued.  “Something much more dangerous.”

Sandor gasped.  “White Walkers!”

Arya listened as Bran told their stories.  He spoke of Father and Mother and Robb and Rickon and even Theon.  Arya hadn’t told Sandor about Theon.  She had never worked out how she felt about her surrogate brother.  The one who laughed when people would call her Arya Horseface.  The one who betrayed her family.  But Sansa and Jon had both forgiven him.  So had Bran.  So Arya had decided to forgive him, too.

Arya felt her eyes getting hot with tears as she watched her son surrounded by his family.  Arya was surrounded by her family, too.  She had spent so many years focused on death and revenge.  So long thinking that she didn’t deserve happiness after all she had done.  But she was happy now.  She hoped to be happy for the rest of her life.  She hoped Sandor never knew a day of true grief, but knew he would.  She could not protect him from that.  She could only make sure he was prepared to face it when it came.


	2. What Gods Dictate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya returns to Storm's End after an extended stay away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, guys, I sort of forgot I wrote this like a week ago. Last weekend was crazy busy for more reasons than just the finale. Anyway, here's this one! Enjoy!

Arya shut her eyes and breathed in the heavy smell of salt in the air.  The waters were churning dangerously beneath the ship.  She was glad to see the docks.  She might even make it back to the castle before the storm hit.  The skies had already grown nearly pitch black though it was barely past midday.

When she’d spotted the singular tower of Storm’s End her heart leapt with joy and twisted with fear all at once.  She had left almost five months before in the dead of night without a word to anyone about where she was going or when she’d be back.  It wasn’t what she had planned.  She hadn’t even planned to leave in the first place.  Something had called her away and she hadn’t known what it was until she got there.

The people greeted her warmly the instant she stepped off the ship.  She had gone with nothing save the clothes on her back and the weapons on her hips.  She came back with one small bag she insisted on carrying herself.  She met castle guards at the inn.  They were surprised to see her, but not displeased.

“You should stay here for the night, M’lady,” the innkeeper said.  “Storm’ll be here before you make it to the castle.”

“All I need is a horse.  I’ve been away too long already.”

The guards and innkeeper all pleaded with her to take refuge at the inn.  They tried bribing her with hot foods and nice, soft featherbeds.  Arya cared for none of that.  She hadn’t slept on a featherbed the entire time she was away.  She didn’t plan on sleeping on any other except her own.

The guards followed her out riding hard as thunder broke overhead.  They shouted at her to slow down and be careful.  She didn’t.  The castle gates rose up in front of her just as the skies opened and the rain began to pour out.  The gate guards startled at the sight of her.  One grabbed her horse and the other helped her dismount.  She wiped the rain out of her eyes.

“M’lady!  You should not have returned in this storm!  You might have fallen!” One of the guards shouted at her over the sounds of the storm.

“I didn’t.” She replied, hurrying into the safety of the keep and out of the rain.

Arya pulled off her sopping cloak and flicked some of the water off in the foyer.  A servant hurried forward to collect it from her.  They reached for her bag.  Arya clutched it tightly and held it away.

It was evenfall, though you couldn’t tell it by the skies.  It was pitch black and swirling.  Arya’s mother always gave credence to signs from the gods.  Arya didn’t care for that, but if she did she’d think that maybe they were warning her about what was awaiting her in the castle.  She started up the stairs deciding to stop first at Sandor’s room.  She had a present for him.

She turned the handle, frowning at the loud squeak it gave.  As if it hadn’t been turned in weeks.  She frowned at the empty room.  Her stomach dropped.  She had left in the middle of the night without a thought.  Something may have happened while she was away.

Arya pushed away her fears and continued up the stairs to the lord’s chambers.  She paused when she reached the door.  Thunder rumbled outside.  She swallowed thickly and set her hand on the handle.  She pushed the door open slowly.

Gendry was sitting at the desk near the window.  The storm at his back.  He didn’t look up when she entered.  He may not have heard her with how loud the storm was.  He stared down at something on the desk.  The candlelight was burning low.  She could see dark circles under his eyes.  A dark beard on his face.

“Gendry?” She called.

He didn’t look up, but his shoulders sagged and he leaned back in his chair.  He kept his eyes on whatever it was on the desk.  He looked worn down.  Arya knew she had done that to him.  She shut her eyes and bowed her head.

After a minute or two, she heard Gendry’s chair slide back against the stone.  She looked up at him, but he still wouldn’t look at her.  He grabbed the paper off the desk and moved toward her.  Arya watched him apprehensively.

“You didn’t even sign your name.” He told her, shoving the paper at her.

Arya took it.  She didn’t need to read it to know what it said.  It was only two words.  But the paper was worn and leathery from being crumpled and smoothed out so many times.  _How many hours did he spend staring at this page_?  She wondered.

_Gendry,_

_Sorry._

“I’m sorry.” Arya said.

Gendry scoffed and snatched the paper back from her.  “Yeah, you’ve said.”  He stalked back over to his desk and dropped her note back where it was.  “’Sorry.’  Just that.  I didn’t know where you had gone or why you left.  Bran and Sansa knew more than I did.  And Bran wouldn’t tell me anything.  He wouldn’t even tell me if you’d ever come back.”

“I did come back.  I’m here now.”

Gendry gave her a scathing look that cut her to the quick.  He’d never looked at her like that before.  Like he hated her.  Lightning cracked behind him through the window.  The light cast strange shadows on his face and made him look dangerous.  Deadly even.  But he didn’t shout or rage.  He dumped himself back in his chair and faced the window.

“Where’s Sandor?”

“Oh, _now_ you care about him?” Gendry seethed.

“Hey!  I’ve _always_ cared about him!” She argued.  She couldn’t believe he could ever think otherwise.  No matter what had happened.

“Do you have any idea what you leaving like that did to him?  Nevermind what it did to me.  He _needed_ you.  He woke up crying every night for two weeks terrified that some monster had come and dragged you off and killed you.”

Arya covered her eyes with her hand and took a breath.  “Well, where is he now?  I want to see him.”

“King’s Landing.  He’s been staying with Jon these past few months.”

“What?  Why?  How could you send him there?” Arya demanded.

Gendry stood back up.  “How could _I_?  _I’m_ not the one who abandoned him!  I’m not the one who left one night without a word.  You don’t get to come back here and question the decisions I had to make because of what you did!”  Thunder roared outside to match his ire.

Arya winced and looked away.  She set her hand on her stomach and tried to calm herself back down.  She didn’t want to yell at him now.  She didn’t want to fight with him though that had never been an option. 

She wanted to tell him.  Before she left she wanted to say something to him.  It was as if something beyond her was pulling her away.  She knew she had to leave, she just couldn't explain why.  And she didn’t know where exactly it was she was meant to go.  Not until she was actually going.  She didn’t have the words to tell him.  To make him understand.  It seemed she still didn’t.

“Where did you go?” Gendry asked quietly from the window.

Arya stared at his back.  His shoulders were hunched up around his ears.  He looked smaller.  Thinner.  She knew she had done that to him, too.

“Essos.  I went to Braavos first.  Then Tyria and down to Valyria.”

“Valyria?  Where they send the people with greyscale?” Gendry said.

Arya nodded.  “No one touched me.  I’m fine.  I had to meet someone there.”

“You had to meet someone.  That was what was so important you had to leave without telling anyone?” Gendry challenged.

“I didn’t know.  I didn’t know that was what I was meant to be doing.  I only knew I had to leave.  And I knew I would know when I was finished.”  Arya massaged her head over her scar.  “I can’t explain it.  I know it doesn’t make sense to you.  It barely makes any sense to me.  And I did try to ignore it.  I really did.  I didn’t want to leave.  It wasn’t a plan.  I didn’t even really realize what I was doing until I was on the ship.”

Gendry was quiet.  “Who did you meet?”

Arya twisted her hand around the hilt of her sword.  “No One.”

Gendry scoffed.  “You’re doing a pretty shit job of explaining.  You had to leave somewhere to meet someone to do something you didn’t know what it was until you did it.  But you met no one and what?  Gave up?”

“I did meet someone.  That someone was No One.” Arya explained patiently. 

She watched Gendry process it.  She had warned him about the Faceless Men when Sandor was still growing in her belly.  She needed him to be prepared to protect their son from anyone.  Even if it was someone wearing her face.  His eyes flicked over her looking for any sign she wasn’t who he thought she was.

“I’m me.” She promised knowing it wouldn’t be enough.

Gendry swallowed hard and reached out a hand toward her face.  Arya took it in both of hers and brought it to her cheek.  She sighed at his touch.  She had wanted to feel him for so long.  She’d dreamt of touching him every night she’d been away.  Gendry’s other hand came up to hold her face.  Arya looked up at him.  His blue eyes were no less stormy than the sea.

Arya reached up to pull his head down so she could kiss him.  He groaned against her mouth and Arya could have cried.  She pulled at his clothes.  She had never needed him so much.  She kicked off her boots as she helped pull his shirt over his head.  She set her hands on her pants not bothering with her own tunic and shirt.  Gendry didn’t seem to mind that she wasn’t as naked as he was.

He picked her up by her thighs and kissed her deeply.  He didn’t take her to their bed, instead, Gendry slammed her back against the wall as the thunder boomed outside.  Arya grunted against him and then he was inside her and it was everything she had been missing for months.  She kissed him greedily.  She starved herself for more than four months aching for just this.

She came with the flash of lightning.  He came to the thunder rolling after.  They stood there against the wall a few minutes more.  Gendry panted into her neck.  Arya kissed his neck, his shoulder, his ear, anything she could reach.  After a minute, Gendry pulled out of her and set her down.  He walked away to the window again.

Arya stared at him.  He’d taken her so roughly.  So desperately, she thought his needs matched hers.  His spend ran down her bare legs, but he wouldn’t see her.  She’d broken him worse than she could have guessed.  “I love you.” She said as if it would fix anything.

Gendry turned his head and gave her a small smile before turning back to the storm.  “It isn’t enough, is it?”

Arya moved to him.  She touched his arm and noted how thin it had gotten.  The muscle was still there.  It was all muscle.  But he’d lost considerable weight.  She swallowed.  “Only if you no longer love me.”

Gendry squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  “Fuck’s sake, Arya, this wouldn’t be so horrible if I didn’t love you.” He growled, yanking his arm away.  “I spent next to five months wishing I’d never laid eyes on you.  My life would be a hell of a lot simpler if I hadn’t.”

Arya nodded.  “Of course it would.  You’d be dead by now.”  She agreed.

Gendry looked down at her.  Lightning flashed and lit his face.  She could see him fighting a smile.  She grinned up at him.  That did it.  He let out a laugh.

“It’s not fair.” He said.  “I made up my mind to hate you two months ago.”

“Did you?”

Gendry nodded.  “And then you show up here after all this time and all I want to do is hold you and kiss you and never let you go again.”

Arya grabbed his arm and kissed his shoulder.  “How funny.  I made my mind up five months ago that I was going to spend at _least_ two days holding you and kissing you and never letting you go as soon as I got back.”

Gendry’s black brows shot up, intrigued.  “Really?”

“Mhm.  It was often all that got me through my long, lonely nights.”

Gendry toyed with the ties on her tunic.  Arya undid the rest herself, but stopped before she pulled it away.  She looked down and sighed.

“There’s one more thing I need to tell you.” She said.

Fear appeared back in his eyes.  Arya smiled at him reassuringly.

“It’s good, I promise.”

Gendry nodded.  “What is it?”

Arya took his hand and pulled it inside her tunic to lay on her slightly rounding stomach.  His eyes widened.  She smiled at him.  “I’m pregnant.”

Gendry swallowed down at her.  “And, um, is it… mine?”

Arya rolled her eyes and slapped his arm.  “Of course it’s yours, you stupid bull.”

Gendry frowned.  “Well, you never know.  You were away a while.”  He muttered.

Arya sighed.  “Do we really have to go through this again?  I’ve never been with anyone but you.  And I never will be.  If you die before me in some horrible accident, I’ll take the black.”

Gendry laughed.  “They’d let you, too.”

Arya nodded.  “Of course they would.  No one’s better at killing White Walkers than me.”

Gendry was furrowing his brow in thought.  “You should’ve come back as soon as you knew.”

Arya let out an indignant huff.  “I _know_ that.  I did try.  I figured it out in Braavos, but when I booked passage back, a storm wrecked all the ships on the docks.”  She grimaced at the memory.  “It was a pretty clear message that the only way out was through.”

Gendry shoved her tunic from her shoulders, kissing her.  “I’m glad you weren’t on the ship when that happened.”

Arya winced.  “I… am an exceptional swimmer.”

Gendry took a deep breath.  “I’m going to _pretend_ you weren’t on the ship when that happened.”

Arya gave him a coy smile.  “Well, you always were worried about future children living up to Sandy’s example.”

Gendry leaned down and kissed her again.  “We should think up names for boys _and_ girls this time.” He murmured.

Arya sighed down at her belly.  “It better be a girl this time.”

* * *

 

 The storms didn’t let up for a week.  That was just fine for them.  Gendry didn’t think he’d ever want to leave their bed again.  Not so long as she was in it.  When they weren’t making love, Gendry would lay beside her with his hand on her belly and talk to the baby just like he used to with Sandor.  He loved the giddy feeling he got whenever the baby kicked in response.

It wasn’t until they finally took a meal in Round Hall that he noticed that Arya hadn’t stopped touching him since that first night.  Even seated beside each other, she had her leg pressed firmly against his.  When they went back to their room, she held his hand and stayed beside him.

_She really missed me_. He realized.  And if he was still holding a grudge, it evaporated like the rain.

She insisted on leaving for King’s Landing as soon as the clouds broke.  Gendry tried to get her to take a litter or a wheelhouse to the docks instead of riding, but she was as stubborn as ever.  The same white horse she had ridden through his gates eight years before was saddled and waiting for her.

Gendry watched her the whole ride from castle to ship for any signs of discomfort or imbalance.  She never took her pregnancy seriously.  With Sandor, she had figured if he had survived two battles there wasn’t much short of dying herself that she could do to hurt him.  Gendry couldn’t help but wonder what sort of trouble she’d gotten mixed up in carrying this one.  Arya wouldn’t go into detail.  Only that it had something to do with the Faceless Men in Essos.  Nothing more.

Gendry had sent a raven to Jon the morning they left.  It only took two days by ship to reach the King’s Landing docks.  Arya went still when she saw the city on the horizon.  Her face, tanned from months in the sun, went oddly pale.  When he asked if she felt alright she nodded, but didn’t speak.  Gendry gave it over to pregnancy sickness.

They rode from the docks to the keep on borrowed horses.  The keep was no longer red.  Instead, white marble bricks had been used to rebuild the castle.  Some of the old castle remained.  The red standing out against the white.  Gendry thought it looked better than before.  Shinier.

“They’re still building it, you know?” Gendry offered.  “Jon says the throne room and a few of the apartments were rebuilt first, but they’re still working on repairing most of the other parts.  Through the city, too.  A lot of the houses still need work.  I think every stonemason in the Seven Kingdoms is here working.”

Arya didn’t reply.  Gendry looked over at her with concern.  Her eyes kept flitting around.  She was nervous enough that she was making her mount uneasy.  It snorted and trembled beneath her.  It was her first time back in the city since the sack.  She had refused to go whenever Jon invited them.  Instead, her brother always ended up at Storm’s End or Winterfell when they wanted to visit.

Gendry realized she was only there for Sandor.  He felt guilty, not for the first time, for insinuating that she didn’t care for their son.  She was walking the streets of her trauma for him.  All because Gendry had sent him away.  

Davos greeted them just inside the palace gates.  He beamed at Gendry as he dismounted.

“Lord Baratheon!” He cried, slapping him fondly on the back.  “I see your lady wife has come back to you!  A pleasure to see you as always, My Lady.”

Gendry looked back at Arya.  She hadn’t gotten down from her horse.  Her hands were fisting in her reins.  She nodded at Davos tight lipped.  Gendry reached out and settled his hand on her leg.  She jerked back and looked down at him.  He gave her a reassuring smile and helped her down from her horse.

“Jon’s out at the East Barracks talking to the City Watch at the moment.  I stayed back to greet you.”  Davos explained, leading them into the keep.  Gendry took Arya’s hand in his and pulled her forward.  “I offered to go so he could be the first to see you, but he insisted it was his duty.  What’s the point in my being Hand if he doesn’t make use of me?” Davos babbled.

Arya’s eyes darted around the keep.  She eyed the pillars that held up the ceiling warily.  Gendry gave her hand a squeeze, but she didn’t seem to notice.  Davos led them out into the training yard, stopping just under the canopy.

Sandor had grown big in the two months since Gendry had last seen him.  His dark hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat.  He was in a thick, straw jacket for padding just like his opponent.  Both boys clutched wooden swords.  Sandor held his easily in his right hand.  His opponent held his sword in both hands.

The other boy swung his sword at Sandor ferociously, charging him.  He had a good six inches of height on Sandor.  His son sidestepped the attack as gracefully as his mother might have done.  He whapped the other boy on the back and stuck his foot out to trip him.  Sandor’s opponent went sprawling into the dirt.

“Sandor Baratheon!  I have told you time and again!  Good little lords fight fair.  And I don’t train any other types of little lords.”  The master at arms berated.

“I’m not a little lord.” Sandor told the man without flinching.  “I’m a wolf.”

“No you’re not.” The other boy retorted, sitting up and spitting dirt from his mouth.  “Your mum was a wolf, but you’re not.  That’s why she ran off and left you.”

Sandor gave a great bellow and turned on the boy.  He struck him on the top of the head with his wooden sword and then swung again and caught the boy’s jaw.  The boy gave a cry of pain and yielded, but Sandor was seeing red.  Before the master at arms could react, Arya was there blocking Sandor’s next blow with Needle.  Gendry hadn’t even seen her move.

Sandor’s rage melted into surprise, then disbelief.  It was a short beat before Sandor’s anger came back anew.  He slid his wooden sword down Arya’s blade and swung at her again.  She blocked the blow easily.  Sandor gave a shout and swung again and again.  Each time, Arya stopped the attack.

The master at arms grabbed up the bleeding boy and dragged him over to Davos and Gendry.  Gendry watched the match helplessly.  He wanted to step in and stop them, but knew better.  Arya had let him get his anger out.  Now it was Sandor’s turn.  Davos mumbled something to the master at arms and they led the bleeding boy away from the yard.

Sandor managed to trick her or she let him think he did, either way, Sandor’s wooden sword connected with her belly.  She gave a short cry before slapping the sword from his hand with the side of her blade.  Sandor stumbled back from her and sat down hard in the dirt.  He stared up at Arya with a bewildered expression.

After a second, the tears came.  Arya sheathed Needle on her hip and crouched down in front of him, massaging her belly tenderly.  She sighed and reached out to wipe away a tear.  It was easy to forget that he wasn’t yet eight years old when he was swinging his sword around.  Now, it was hard to see him as anything but a hurt child.

“That boy yielded.  Even wolves know better than to attack someone who’s yielded.” Arya told him knowingly. 

“I’m not a wolf, then!” Sandor said stubbornly.  His fingers pulled at the stays to his straw armor.  “I don’t want to be a wolf anymore!  I hate wolves!  And I hate you!”

Arya winced and turned her eyes to the wooden sword where it lay in the dirt.  She sighed and sat on her butt in the dirt to match Sandor.  She chewed at her lip.  Slowly, she nodded.

“Alright, then.” She agreed.

“Alright?” Sandor repeated skeptically.  He dropped his straw armor onto the dirt beside him.

Arya nodded.  “Hate me if you must.  It won’t change anything.  I’ll still love you.  No matter what.”

Sandor stared at her.  Tears streamed down his round cheeks.  Gendry’s heart broke for them both.  “I do.  I hate you.  I won’t ever stop hating you.  You left us!  You made Father so sad he couldn’t even smith!”

Arya’s mouth fell open.  Her own eyes pooled with tears he knew she wouldn’t allow to fall.

“He hates you more than me, I’ll bet!” Sandor continued, getting to his feet.

Gendry went to them then.  He couldn’t very well stay away.  He knelt beside Arya and reached out to pull Sandor toward him.  His son looked more surprised to see Gendry there than he had to see his mother.  Gendry pressed a kiss to Sandor’s tear stained cheek.

“I don’t hate your mum.  I love her.  You love her, too.  I know you do.  You wouldn’t feel like you do if you didn’t.”  Gendry told him gently.

“It’s alright, Gendry, he can hate me.  I know I deserve it.  What I did was terrible and mean.  You’re allowed to hate people who are terrible and mean.”

Sandor jutted out his bottom lip.  “Good.  Because I _do_ hate you.”

Gendry sighed and shook his head.  He stood up and reached down to help Arya to her feet.  She winced and pressed her stomach where Sandor had struck her.  He covered her hand with his own.

“Are you alright?”

Arya nodded and let out a breath.  “I’m fine.”

Sandor stared up at them.  His grey eyes so like Arya’s.  It had been hard to look at him after she’d left.  He did his best not to let on to his son.  It wasn’t his fault he looked like his mother.  Still, when Jon had offered to take Sandor to King’s Landing for a few months, Gendry didn’t refuse as heartily as he should have.

“C’mon, we should go inside.” Gendry suggested, tugging at her hand.  He put his hand on Sandor’s soft hair and steered him into the keep along with them.

Arya didn’t like it in the keep.  Gendry could see that much.  Her eyes went back to flitting around the rooms.  Every passageway was a danger to her.  Gendry hated that he had been the one to force her back here.

“Arya!” Jon shouted behind them.

Arya turned just in time to be enveloped in her brother’s arms.  She let out a small _oof_ before slowly hugging him back.  Jon let her go and beamed at her.  His eyes scanned her over.

“Where the hell did you run off to?” Jon demanded.

“Essos.” Arya answered shortly.

“And you couldn’t send word you were alright?  What if something had happened to you?”

“Bran would’ve said something.” Arya wasn’t really looking at Jon.  Gendry saw her attention flit from person to person.  Davos, Samwell Tarly, Lord Royce of the Vale, and several King’s Guards. 

“I don’t care what Bran would’ve done.  _You_ should’ve done something.  You could have written.” Jon insisted.  When Arya didn’t reply, he sighed and pulled her into another hug.  “Alright.  We can talk more tomorrow.  I’ll even take you to see the renovations.  Lord Davos says you’d hardly recognize Fleabottom now it’s been remodeled.”

Arya shook her head.  “We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.  We only came for Sandor.”

Jon frowned first at her then down at Sandor.  “So soon?  You only just arrived.”

“I only came for my son.”

“You mean to take him back to Storm’s End?”  He looked Sandor in the eyes.  “Do you want to leave, Sandy?  I thought you liked it here.”

“He’s leaving with us.” Arya said without room for argument.

Jon frowned at her.  Gendry just knew he was going to argue with her anyway.  They stared heatedly at each other in silence until Arya flinched and massaged her stomach.  Jon’s eyes followed the action.  He narrowed his eyes at her.

“Maybe he shouldn’t.  If that’s what I think it is under your shirt.”

Arya glared hard at her brother.  “Maybe you should find a lady to have a son of your own with so can stop trying to steal mine.” She snapped.  Then she groaned and rubbed her belly again.

“You sure you’re alright?” Gendry asked under his breath.

She nodded.  “It’s just fussing.”

“Probably the stress.” Samwell Tarly offered.

Arya narrowed her eyes at the man and he withered under her harsh stare.  His neck was heavy with maester’s links.  He knew what he was talking about.  Arya just wasn’t in the mind to hear it.

“What’s fussing?” Sandor asked.  “What’s wrong?”

Arya settled her hand on Sandor’s dark hair.  She gave him a tight smile.  “Nothing’s wrong.  I’m fine.  I just need to lie down, I think.”

Gendry nodded and put his arm around her waist.

“We can talk more tomorrow, Arya.” Jon said seriously.

“We’re still leaving tomorrow.” She said, letting Gendry lead her away.

Gendry settled her onto the bed as soon as they reached their rooms.  He started for the water, but she fisted her hand in his sleeve and held him in place.  He sat back on the bed and brushed her hair back from her face.  She shut her eyes and used her free hand to rub her belly.

“It’s the city, isn’t it?” He asserted.

Arya sighed.  “It still smells like smoke.”

Gendry sniffed the air.  There was a slight smoky smell to the air, but it very well could have been the fireplace.  “To be fair, the city never smelled good.”

Arya gave a small smile.  “We met in this city.  I wish that were enough to outweigh everything else.  The streets are all gone.  Or… changed.  The alley where Yoren cut off my hair crumbled down around me.  The kitchens I used to take pigeons to trade for bowls of brown went down in flames.  And even though I know better, there’s a part of me that still expects to see a dragon overhead.”

“We’ll leave tomorrow.  I promise.”

Arya shook her head.  “We can’t leave without Sandy.”  She pressed her hand into her side.  “Jon isn’t going to make it easy.”

“Well, he’s still your brother.  Even if he is king.”

“Your father was my father’s best friend before he was king.  I grew up on stories of the two of them, but the warrior Robert Baratheon and the king Robert Baratheon were nothing alike.  My father always said crowns change people.”

“He’s still Jon, though.” Gendry reasoned.

The door opened then and Sandor stood in the doorway.  Arya opened her eyes and looked down the bed at him.  He looked scared.  Gendry reached his hand out in invitation.  Sandor shut the door and hurried over to take his hand.  Gendry pulled him up onto his knee.

“Are you dying, Mum?”  Sandor asked.  “Is that why you left?  Little Sam said wolves always leave the pack to die.”

Arya frowned.  “What would Little Sam know about the manners of wolves?”

Gendry smiled and kissed the back of his son’s head.  Arya sighed and took Sandor’s hand in her own.  She brought it up under her tunic and held his fingers to her belly.  She frowned for a second thoughtfully before a smile spread on her tired face.

“There.  You feel that?”

Sandor’s eyes were saucers.  “What _is_ that?”  He cried in fear.

Gendry and Arya laughed.  The topic of babies hadn’t ever come up with him.  Sandor seldom questioned things.  Whenever new babies appeared he just accepted them as new additions to the keep with no regard for where they’d come from or how they’d gotten there.  He was like Gendry that way.

“That’s your little brother or sister.” Gendry explained.

“Well, which is it?” Sandor demanded.  “And why’s it in your belly?”

“We won’t know which until they’re born.  It has to stay in my belly until it gets a bit bigger.  Then we can see what it is.”  Arya told him.

Sandor frowned and pulled his hand away from Arya’s stomach.  “Does it hurt when it moves in there like that?”

Arya frowned.  “Sometimes.”

“Did you keep me in your belly when I was that little?”

Arya smiled and nodded.  “Of course.  All babies start in their mother’s bellies.”

Sandor frowned.  “Did I hurt you?”

Arya nodded.  “More than when I was stabbed in the gut.”

Gendry twisted his mouth up.  He didn’t think she should be so blunt about it.  But who was he to argue.  He hadn’t been the one to birth him.  And maybe it would keep him from making any bastards when he got old enough.  Well, that and Gendry’s many stories about the perils of being born a bastard in Westeros.

Sandor looked like he was on the verge of tears.  “I don’t hate you, Mum.  I was only mad when I said that.  I don’t hate you, really.”

“That’s good.  I’d be sad if you really did hate me.”  Arya told him, seriously.  She pulled him into a hug and sighed into his hair.  Gendry smiled down at them.  It was a relief to have them all back together again.  It had been less than five months, but it felt like a lifetime.

“I did bring something for you.” Arya told Sandor.

Sandor sat up, delight and excitement plain on his face.  “What is it?”

Arya nudged Gendry and pointed to the bag she’d kept with her for almost all of her journey.  He left to get it, grabbing water for her as he did.  She smiled at him and took a sip before setting it beside the bed and handing the bag to Sandor.

Sandor pulled the bag opened impatiently and pulled chainmail from the bag.  Gendry frowned.  He could have made chainmail for him.  Sandor straightened it out and Gendry saw the way the light caught the metal.  He grabbed a sleeve and held it up.  The metalworking was intricate.  Remarkable.  Something he had never seen before.

“It’s Valyrian Steel!” Gendry cried.  Arya laughed at him.

“For true, Mum?” Sandor demanded excitedly.

Arya nodded.  “I found it buried in the remains of an old smithy in Old Valyria.  Lucky thing, too.  Few things are stronger than Valyrian Steel.”

Gendry could tell there was more to her story, but knew better than to press her.  She would tell him when she was ready.  Even if the news of her discovering an old Valyrian smithy in Old Valyria was more than he thought to get.  Sandor tried the mail on only to become forlorn at the realization that he was too small for the armor.  It dragged the floor and pooled around his ankles and the sleeves went well past his hands.

Gendry helped him take it back off with the promise that it would fit when he was older.  Sandor crawled back into his mother’s arms and pressed his head up under her chin.  Gendry kicked his boots off and went around the bed to the other side.

They all fell asleep in the bed together.  None of them were willing to leave the other.  When they woke, Arya was sweating and flushed.  Sandor was working himself into a panic.  Gendry had to fight down his own to stave off his son’s fit.  He brought her a glass of water and held her up so she could drink.

“Sandy, I need you to fetch the maester.  Be quick about it.” Gendry told him.

Sandor jumped to his task, bolting from the bedroom swift as a deer.  Gendry found a washcloth and dipped it in cold water before laying it on Arya’s forehead.  She gave him a weak smile he knew was meant to reassure him, but it only intensified his worry.

Samwell Tarly knocked at the door before entering.  He swallowed nervously as he approached the bed.  His hands twisted in front of him.

“Um, may I?” He asked, gesturing to her belly.

Arya gave him a once over with her assessing eyes before nodding.  Gendry watched the man unlace Arya’s tunic.  Gendry moved forward to help sit her up so they could pull it off.  Arya grabbed his hand where it was settled on her shoulder and leaned her head on his chest.

Sam prodded her belly experimentally.  He sat back and smiled.  “Well, the baby is still moving.  That’s a good sign.”  He reached down and took Arya’s wrist.  He was silent for a bit, concentrating on her pulse.  He sat back and nodded, frowning now.

Gendry watched him press his fingers to Arya’s neck just under her jaw.  “You were in Essos you said?  Where did you go while you were there?” 

“Braavos.” Arya answered, quickly.

Sam nodded.  “Braavos.  Is it nice there?  I’ve never been, but I’ve always been curious.”

“It’s normal.  Just a city.”

Sam nodded.  “I heard there aren’t any streets and you need to have a boat to go anywhere.”

Arya shook her head.  “You can take a boat through the canals if you have one, but there are streets there just like anywhere.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“She went to Valyria.” Gendry blurted.

Sam looked up at him with surprise.  Arya glared up at him.  Gendry ignored her.

“She said no one touched her, but could she have gotten it anyway?  The greyscale?”

Sam turned his eyes back to Arya.  He touched her forehead.  “Well, it isn’t greyscale.  The symptoms are wrong.”

Gendry let out a sigh of relief.  “Thank the gods.”

“I already knew it wasn’t greyscale.  I wouldn’t have come back if I had it.  Do you really think I would endanger you or Sandor that way?” Arya demanded.  She winced again.

“Right, well, it seems like it’s just a fever brought on by stress.  You need to relax as best you can.  If your fever gets too high, you could damage the baby.”

Arya glared at Sam.  “Yeah, _that’s_ a relaxing thought.”

“Sorry.”  Sam said, flinching.  “But, well, you need to rest and eat.  I heard you were sparring with Sandor yesterday.  You probably didn’t do yourself any favors.”

“You don’t know that.”  Arya grumbled.

Sam moved to a table by one of the windows and set to making up a tonic for her.  “He’s a really good fighter, your son.  Little Jon’s not so much.  He’s better than me, of course.  I’m rubbish in a fight.  Even with King Jon trying to teach me I didn’t improve that much.  Little Sam is much better.  He takes after his mother, suppose.  Or Craster, though don’t tell him that.  He doesn’t like that I’m not his real father.”  Sam prattled as he worked.  “I know Little Sam’s been saying cruel things to Sandor while he’s been here.  I _have_ spoken with him about it.  He’s just jealous at how much better Sandy is at fighting than he is even though he’s littler.”

“Was that who he attacked yesterday?” Gendry asked.

Sam turned around with his tonic.  A disgusting yellow colored liquid.  He nodded at Gendry as Arya drank it down.  “And don’t you worry.  I already stitched up his head where Sandy split him open.  He never should have said that about you leaving him.  I told him as much, I did.  Gilly’s none too happy about it.  Especially since Jon’s suggested making a match between Sandor and Nella though she’s not yet four.”

Arya locked up beside him.  She arched a brow at Sam.  “Jon suggested _what_?”

Sam took the cup back.  His face paled.  “Oh, I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“Did _you_ know about this?” She demanded, looking up at him.  Gendry shook his head.

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

Arya kicked her feet over the edge of the bed.  Sam and Gendry both tried to push her back into the bed.  She punched Gendry and shouldered Sam before stomping out the door.  Gendry rubbed his jaw and ran after her.

She found Jon in the dining hall eating with Sandor, Gilly, and their four children.  Sam’s chair was left open for him while he was meant to be tending Arya.  She was still in her breeches and undershirt.  Her hair was a mess and she was sweating from her fever.

“Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?” She screeched at Jon.

Jon looked up at her bewildered.  He stood up and glanced at Gendry who grimaced helplessly.  Sandor stood up, too, clearly debating running over to her. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“You think you can just take my son and marry him off to whoever you want?  Make him your heir because you’re too chicken shit to have a child of your own?”

Jon huffed.  “I know you see me as your brother, but I am still your king.”

“King?  Is that how you want to play it?  You’ll be lucky if I don’t take Sandor to Essos where you’ll never get your grubby little mitts on him ever again, _cousin_.” Arya growled.

Jon rounded the table at her.  “You think any ship will leave my harbor without my say so?”

There was venom in Arya’s eyes.  Gendry felt completely helpless.  And a little bit to blame.  If he hadn’t agreed to let Sandor stay with Jon they never would’ve been put in this predicament.

“You can _not_ just kidnap my son.”

“ _You_ left _him_!  You still won’t say where you’ve been or what you were doing.  Is that even Gendry’s baby in there?  Or did you leave some lover in Essos?” Jon challenged.

It was absolutely the wrong thing to say.  Jon knew it too from the look on his face right before Arya punched him in the gut.  When he keeled over she socked him on the jaw dropping him to the ground.  Gilly and the children gasped loudly.  “I liked you better when you were Ned Stark’s bastard.  Aegon Targaryen is a cunt.” She spit at him.

Jon groaned and pushed himself off the floor.  Arya grabbed Sandor’s hand and led him from the room.  Gendry covered his eyes with his hand.  Jon sat back in his chair at the head of the table and groaned.  He looked at Gendry again.

“She got you, too, huh?”

Gendry touched his jaw where she’d struck him.  He dropped his hand back at his side.

“I’m sorry for what I said about the baby.  I know she wouldn’t step out on you.”  Jon told him.

Gendry looked over at the little girl beside Gilly.  She bore a striking resemblance to her mother.  Not unpretty, but obviously meek.  She had her face buried in her mother’s dress.  Sandor would need a strong willed girl like his mother to match him.  Nella wasn’t that.

“Is it true you suggested a match between that one and my son, then?”  Gendry asked.

Jon looked Gendry over.  He sighed.  “It was just an offhand idea.  I didn’t mean for it to get out of hand like this.  I would have brought it to the two of you before any sort of decisions were made.  You have my word on that.”

Gendry nodded and looked down at his feet.  “I’m sorry we ruined your breakfast.”

Jon picked up his wine cup and sighed.  “I’m just glad she wasn’t armed.”

Gendry chuckled.  He tapped his jaw.  “Oh, believe me, I know.”

Jon took a sip and nodded his head in the direction Arya had left.  “She going to be alright?  Sandy made it seem like she was dying.  Ordinarily, a person socking someone one the jaw would be seen as a positive sign, but with Arya….”

“The city’s stressing her out.” Gendry confessed.

Jon frowned and looked out the window.  “I don’t know why she was even here that day.  She never talks about it.  Anytime I ask, she always changes the subject.  It’s the same with wherever she was before Winterfell and I know it’s going to be the same with wherever she was these past few months.”

Gendry scratched his jaw.  “I expect she came to kill Cersei.”  He shrugged.  “I never asked, so might be she came with some other intention, but Cersei was one of the last names on her list.”

“What list?” Jon asked around a mouthful of bread.

Gendry scratched the back of his head.  “Well, she sort of made this list when she was a kid.  Of all the people that had wronged her or people she cared about.  It started with Joffrey I think, but Cersei was on there, too.”

Jon frowned at his plate.  “Cersei was going to die with or without her help.  Why would she bother with it?”

Gendry stared at Jon, wondering how much he was allowed to say.  Especially with Gilly and the children seated at the table.  Jon followed his eyesight.  He gave Gilly a tight smile.

“Would you mind excusing us, My Lady?” Jon asked, politely, but without any room for refusal.

Gilly collected her children and steered them out of the dining hall.  Once they were alone, Jon offered Gendry a seat at the table.  Gendry sat down and picked up a piece of bacon to nibble at.

“Arya was there the day they executed Lord Stark.” Gendry confessed.  “She was standing in the crowd near the statue.  She saw them all up there when they killed him.  That’s why she put them all on her list.  I think that’s also why she needed to kill them herself.”  Gendry took another bite and shrugged.  “Most of them died without her help anyway.”

“Did she kill any of them?” Jon asked.

Gendry furrowed his brow in thought.  “Meryn Trant, I think.  She said she killed somebody in a brothel.  I think that was him.”

Jon seemed awestruck.  They were quiet a while.

“I can’t believe she called me a cunt.” Jon said at last.

Gendry snorted.  “She spent too much time with the Hound, I think.  But he saved her life loads of times so I guess it evens out.”

“And she hit me.” He continued.  “She hasn’t hit me since…. Gods, I can’t even remember.”

Gendry laughed.  “That’s lucky.  I think it was her last name day that she hit me.  I don’t even remember what I did.  Probably it was something I said.”

Jon nodded and looked up as Samwell Tarly walked in.  “How is she?”

Sam sat down beside Jon and reached for a roll.  “She’d be loads better if she would stay put.  Though, I admit I may have added to her stress.  I thought maybe you had told them something about Nella.”

“The kids are too young by far to start thinking of that.” Gendry said.

Jon nodded.  “I know.”

“Could… sorry.  I know I agreed to letting you keep Sandor here with you for a while, but I think it’s probably best for everyone if Sandor comes back with us to Storm’s End.  At least for a few more years.  Then he can decide for himself what he wants to do.”

Jon frowned at him.  Gendry hated that he still felt like a lowborn bastard when faced with Arya’s siblings.  Even Jon.  It had only gotten worse since he’d been crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Well, you can’t leave just yet.” Sam piped up.  “She isn’t suited to any sort of traveling with her fever.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for her to be well enough to travel?” Gendry asked.

Sam shrugged as he chewed a roll.  “If she does what she’s meant to, three days.  If not… longer.”

Gendry pushed his fingers into his eyes and sighed.  The city was what was making her sick.  And they couldn’t leave the city because she _was_ sick.  He didn’t suppose the baby was making it easy on her.  Gendry sighed.  There was nothing for it.  They would have to stay.

* * *

 

 “Huh.”  That was all Arya had to say when Samwell Tarly placed their daughter in her arms.  Gendry stared down at the bundle slack jawed.  Arya had gotten her wish.  It was a girl.

Arya frowned at the baby again.  She looked back and forth between the bundle in her arms and the man at her side.  Jon had done his damnedest to get Gendry out of the palace when Arya went into labor.  Gendry wouldn’t hear it.  He sent Sandor off with his uncle instead.  She was glad for that.  No need to scare her son unnecessarily.

“Are you sure this is the right baby?” She asked Sam.

He gave a small giggle.  “It isn’t like I go keeping spare newborns on hand, My Lady.”

Arya frowned down at her daughter again.  She looked up at Gendry.  “This looks like Sansa’s baby more than ours.”

It was true.  The baby had a crop of bright red hair and fair skin.  When Sandor was born, there had been no mistaking it was Gendry’s son.  He’d had the Baratheon look all the way through save Arya’s grey eyes.  This little girl was almost the exact opposite.  As if there hadn’t been enough doubt that she was Gendry’s child.

“Tell me again how I’m the only man you’ve ever been with.” Gendry said.

Arya scowled up at him.  “You _are_.  Don’t make me gut you and make myself a widow.”

Gendry frowned at her.  “What a very Cersei thing to suggest.”

Arya freed one of her hands carefully and slapped Gendry on the back of his head.  He laughed.

“Alright!  I’m sorry.  She just… well, she doesn’t look like either one of us now, does she?”

Arya nodded.  “That’s why I thought it was the wrong baby!”

“There’s only one baby here and that’s the one you’re holding.” Sam assured them.

Arya stared at the man a second longer then back down at their daughter.  Gendry frowned.  Arya knew what he was thinking.  All the Baratheons – all the _true_ Baratheons – had black hair.  He was probably thinking about any men around Storm’s End that had red hair.

“You think she isn’t yours, don’t you?” Arya challenged.

Gendry blinked at her.  “No.  I mean, yes.  No.”  He took a breath.  “You say you’ve never been with anyone but me and I believe you.”

Arya smiled at him.  She craned her head up searching for his lips.  Gendry set his mouth on hers dutifully.  Sam shuffled over and leaned forward to look at the baby.

“Well, she does have your nose.” Sam offered Gendry.

Gendry looked down at the baby again and stroked her tiny nose with a gentle finger.  She wrinkled her face at his touch.  Gendry smiled at her warmly.

“Yes she does.” He agreed, fondly.

“I’m going to see about having the servants draw a bath for you.” Sam said with a smile.  He shuffled out of the room.  His maester’s chain jingling softly.

“What do we call her?” Arya asked when he’d gone.

Gendry frowned.  “Well, we’re not naming her Cersei.”

Arya scowled up at him.  He grinned at her.  “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

Gendry shrugged and held the baby’s little hand between his thumb and forefinger.  “I’m a little funny.”

Arya rolled her eyes at him.  “Well, she’s not a Wenda, that’s for sure.”

Gendry tilted his head down at her.  “Is she a Catelyn?” Gendry offered.

Arya tried to imagine a little Catelyn running around.  But she’d used the name herself when she was in Braavos.  The memory of Riverrun leapt back into her head.  She fought a shudder.  She shook her head.  “No.  Not Catelyn.”

Gendry held his hands out for her.  Arya smiled.  He would never ask for the babies, he would just hold his hands out and wait for them to be placed in his arms.  Arya never denied him.  Sandor hardly saw a bed that wasn’t one parent’s arms or the other’s for the first month.  Arya placed their red haired daughter in his arms.

He carried her over to the window and looked down at the city.  It was Arya’s bane that their daughter was born in the city she despised.  It couldn’t be helped.  After Sam had examined her more fully the day after they’d arrived, he’d determined her to be much further along than she’d originally thought.  With her son, she’d begun to show prominently at five months.  It turned out, her daughter simply took up less space.  And Arya was _really_ bad at keeping track of her bleeding.

_Such a little lady.  Maybe she really_ is _Sansa’s child_.  She smiled at the thought.  Sansa would die if she’d heard that.

“What do you think of Yora?” Gendry asked from the window.

“Yora?” She said, tasting it.

Gendry nodded.  His face was red.

“Why Yora?” She asked, curious at his blush.

Gendry looked out the window again.  “Well, the Hound sent you back to me so we named our son Sandor after him.  But really it was Yoren who introduced us, wasn’t it?  He kept us safe as best he could.  We wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for him.”

Arya smiled at him.  “How long have you been sitting on that name?”

Gendry glanced back at her and flushed brighter.  He stared down at the baby in his arms.  “Since you were hoping Sandor would be a girl.” He admitted somewhat sheepishly.  “Do you hate it?”

Arya shook her head.  “No.  It’s good.  Yora.  Yora Baratheon.”

“Stark.” Gendry said.

Arya laughed.  “Is it the hair?”

He shook his head.  “I always figured if we had a girl she’d have to be a Stark.  Stark girls are brave and strong and good.  Never met any Baratheon girls.  Dunno what they’re like.”

Arya felt herself crying.  Gendry’s brows shot up in surprise.

“Whoa!  It’s alright!  She can be a Baratheon.  I was mostly joking.  You did say I wasn’t funny.”  He babbled helplessly.

“Sorry.” Arya said through her tears.  “It’s not that.”  She dashed her hands across her face.  “I don’t know why I’m crying.  I’m happy really.”

Gendry leaned over and kissed her temple.  She scrubbed her hands over her face and looked down at the baby sleeping in Gendry’s arms.  She was perfect.  _Looks can be deceiving_ she reasoned with herself.  _Just because she looks like a lady doesn’t mean she’ll act like one._

* * *

 

 For as wild and reckless as Arya and Gendry were, their children were the antithesis.  Where Gendry could hardly be bothered to make a hard decision on anything his castellan didn’t advise or Arya recommended, Sandor worked through solutions on his own.  Where Arya had struggled with needlepoint and knitting, Yora shone.  It got to the point that few people truly believed _either_ of the children belonged to them.

Yora’s parentage was long called into question.  Jon, Davos, and Sandor returned to the Red Keep after three days to see the new Baratheon.  Sandor loved her immediately and without question.  He crawled onto the couch beside Arya and sat very still as she placed the infant on his lap. 

“Haven’t seen hair that red since Sansa was born.” Jon commented.

Davos frowned deeply and pulled Gendry aside.  “I don’t want to be the one to suggest, but I’ve seen enough Baratheon babes to know their look.  Never have I seen a Baratheon with anything other than jet black hair, lad.”

“She’s got my nose.” Gendry told him easily.

Davos shook his head unconvinced.  He stared at the newborn in Sandor’s lap.  The boy held Yora’s hand between his fingers.

“She’s so small, mum.  Even Needle is too big for her.”  Sandor told Arya concerned.

Arya smiled and kissed his head.  “She’ll grow.”

Sandor shook his head.  “We have to protect her.  She’s too small.”

Gendry grinned at his son.  He remembered having that exact thought near to twenty years earlier regarding a different little girl.  A little girl who had, in fact, proven herself very capable of defending herself.  And everybody else.

Two weeks after that, Sansa and Bran arrived along with their company.  Tormund took one look at the red haired beauty and leered at Arya dramatically.  Gendry would’ve slugged him if he weren’t very sure the wild man could throw him from the window with one arm.

“I thought maybe it was a dream, but could you have sailed to me in the night after all?” He japed.

Ser Brienne clocked him hard on the back of the head.  Tormund stumbled forward and went sprawling onto the stone floor.  Once he’d picked himself up, Ser Brienne hoisted him to his feet and dragged the big man out of the room.  Sansa was standing with Podrick staring down at the baby in Arya’s arms.

It had taken years for Sansa to open herself up to loving and being loved again.  It had taken longer for her to let herself trust any man that might show interest in her.  Podrick had been her Ser Florian.  A knight as brave and true as all those from the songs she loved.  Arya had told Gendry time and again through the years how she hoped her sister would find happiness as they had.  That she had not given up everything because of what she had gone through.

Their love had started slowly.  After the wars, Brienne and Podrick remained in Winterfell where Sansa reigned as the Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell.  She helped rebuild the kingdom to its former glory.  When Brienne would be sent away on some business, Podrick began to stay behind with Sansa.

They had wed only three years before.  The last time the Baratheons had struck North was for their wedding.  Sansa refused to take any name other than Stark and Podrick had never been particular on his surname.  Those that might mock him learned quickly what became of those that might trifle with the Starks.  Even Starks through marriage.

Gendry couldn’t help but think that the expression on Sansa’s face was one of jealousy.  Her own daughter was barely two and no less beautiful than her mother.  Arya beckoned her sister over to sit beside her.  Gendry watched Arya place the child in Sansa’s arms and beam at her.

“She’s beautiful.” Sansa breathed.

“She looks like you.” Arya said easily.  After more than two weeks, it didn’t seem to bother her so much anymore.

“More like me than Margaery does.” Sansa murmured.

Gendry wondered where the little Stark had scampered off to.  He had to assume it was somewhere with the other palace children.  Gilly was good about keeping the little ones out of trouble.  And Sandor was good at watching out for those he deemed could not feasibly look out for themselves.

Podrick shuffled over to stand beside Gendry sheepishly.  The man straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat like the lords that came to him in his smithy thinking to berate him on his lack of civility.  Gendry looked over at him expectantly.  The lord knight’s face went pink and his shoulders sagged.

“Something on your mind, Pod?” Gendry asked.

Podrick winced and raised his eyes to Sansa.  “Can we tell them?”

Arya looked over to Podrick and back to Sansa.  Gendry watched her scrutinize her sister’s body language.  A slow smile crawled onto her face.  “Congratulations.”

Sansa scowled.  “You spoil everything, you know.  You could just wait until we decide to tell you.”

Gendry was completely lost.  He tried to see whatever it was Arya had seen in her sister, but the lady looked normal.  Average.  Well, not average, she was a beautiful lady, but nothing that called for congratulations he didn’t think.

“If it comes out with black hair, we’ll know the gods got us swapped.” Arya joked.

Sansa giggled and touched her belly around Yora’s bundle of blankets in her arms.  “I don’t think it’d be fair if you were the only one to have a baby with Tully looks.”

Arya scowled.  “Why not?  I’m just as much Tully as you are and I didn’t get to have the Tully looks myself.”

Sansa sighed.  “I suppose if this one has dark hair, too, we can always trade.”

Gendry felt his anger at the idea of his child being traded or bartered for or switched rise in his chest.  He moved to the women quickly and carefully plucked his daughter out of Sansa Stark’s arms.  He took her away cooing to her softly.

“Don’t you worry, love.  No one is ever going to take you away from me.” He promised her.  He pressed his lips softly to the top of her fair head.

“Look, you’ve upset them.” Arya said.  Gendry looked back at her then over at Podrick who seemed no less unsettled at the sisters’ notions for switching children.

Sansa frowned.  “I was only kidding.”

Arya stood up, still wincing when she moved too fast as her bones returned to their original places.  Sansa helped her so Gendry could focus on rocking the baby in his arms.

“And you are _positive_ that’s Gendry’s baby?” Sansa hissed at Arya none too discreetly.

“It’s his.” Bran announced breaking his unerring silence.  Gendry still didn’t completely like Bran after his decided secrecy with Arya’s whereabouts.  Not that he’d ever _enjoyed_ the man’s company per say.  “Children are not replicas of their parents.  Only echoes of them.  You’ll see.”

They didn’t see until seven years later and Yora’s parentage was _always_ called into question.  When Sansa and her daughters visited Storm’s End and Yora had insisted on learning to knit and sew, they wondered if she was truly the daughter of Arya Stark.  When her red hair grew down her back with a slight curl, they wondered if she truly was a Baratheon.  When she sparred in the yard with the other children and didn’t show the slightest temper when she was shoved down or bested, people wondered if she belonged to either of the hotheaded fools that ruled the Stormlands.

It was the ladylike behavior that drove Arya mad.  Gendry was worried it was because she expected her daughter to fight sellswords in Essos like she did or lead armadas and strongholds and bow to no men.  Sandor didn’t seem to care one way or the other what his little sister’s interests were.  His only concern was that she be equipped to protect herself should the need arise.  Beyond that, she could play with dolls or raise chickens in her spare time for all he cared.

“I had to watch that damned Ronel throw Yora into the dirt _seven_ times today.” Arya raged.  “She wouldn’t hit him!  She blocked some of the blows sure, but she wouldn’t _attack_!  No matter what I said!”

Gendry brushed her hair back and kissed her cheek.  “She’s a gentle soul.  No thirst for vengeance like her mother.”

Arya scowled as she flipped her dagger in her hand.  She always did that when she was agitated.  Gendry was careful to avoid her hands when she did.  Gendry stood up and walked across the room for the wine.

“Our children have never known war.  Not truly.  No matter what Sandor would have people believe.”  Gendry brought a cup of wine over to her and she set Cat’s Paw down to take it.  “We should be glad our children have no cause to take up arms.  If neither of them ever have to kill another person in their whole lives I’d consider that a raging success.”

Arya frowned.  “It doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be prepared.  Jon could die in some freak accident and suddenly another war breaks out over who deserves the throne.”

There was a knock at the door before he could answer.  Gendry took a sip from his cup before setting it on the table beside Cat’s Paw and opening the door.  Yora stood in the stairwell clutching something in her hands that was near as big as she was.  Gendry pulled her inside and shut the door behind her.

Yora looked at the floor.  She had a huge black bruise across her cheek from sparring and even that did nothing to conceal her beauty.  The older she got, the most of his features Gendry could pick out in her.  Her blue eyes that were darker and bluer than the Tully blue.  The nose that looked like his in every way save the size.  The chin and the cheekbones were all Arya not that she could see it.  She insisted the girl looked nothing like her and everything like her sister or mother.

“What’s that?” Arya asked, pointing to the object in her arms.

Yora swallowed and handed it to Gendry.  “I made you something.”

Gendry let the wool open up into a large blanket.  It was grey and yellow woven together in uneven stitches.  There were several holes throughout where she’d evidently dropped her stitches.  Regardless, Gendry didn’t think he had ever seen a more beautiful blanket in all his life.  He grinned at his daughter and scooped her into a hug dropping the blanket on Arya’s lap.

“That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” He crowed.  He pulled back and looked her in the eyes.  “And that’s saying something ‘cause I’ve seen undead polar bears _and_ dragons.”

Yora giggled and hugged him again before he set her back down.  Yora looked over at Arya hesitantly.  Gendry’s stomach tensed in fear and worry.  Arya was a great mother, but she expected a lot and patience was never one of her virtues.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t very good at arms practice today, Mum.”

Arya was staring at the blanket with one of her patented unreadable expressions on her face.  Her hand smoothed over the dyed wool.  Gendry knew she was lost in thought.  She had disappeared somewhere in the past.  Somewhere no one knew.

“Arya,” Gendry called her back to the present.

Her eyes flicked up to his then over to Yora.  “Hmm?”

Yora took a slow breath.  “I’ll do my best tomorrow at practice.  I promise.”  Yora swore.  She hunched her shoulders up and looked at Arya reservedly.  “What do you think of the blanket?”

Arya’s whole face lit up with a smile and Gendry felt every muscle in his body relax.  “It’s really good.  A hundred times better than I could do.  Septa Mordane would crack my knuckles and tell me I had the hands of a blacksmith whenever I tried to do anything like this.”

Yora frowned.  “Did you not smith when you were little?”

Gendry bit his cheek.  She had no idea that most highborn children only ever stepped foot in smithies when their fathers were buying armor or weapons.  Both of his kids had worked with him at the forge as soon as they were able.  Sandor had even made Gendry and Arya matching helms.  A bull and a wolf.  Anniversary presents he’d given them the year past on the eve of the day Arya had killed the Night King.  Yora liked to make arrowheads and fix them to shafts.

“I hate to tell you, but the only lord that knows a thing about smithing is your father.”  Arya glanced at the helms across the room.  “And maybe your brother, I suppose.”

“I want to make him a new tunic for his name day.” Yora admitted.

Arya arched her brow.  “That’s less a month away.  Your Aunt Sansa and her children will be here in two weeks.  I’ll bet they’ll be able to help.”

Yora nodded and twisted her mouth up the way she did whenever she wanted something, but was afraid to ask.  “Would it be alright if we went to town and bought some fabric?”

Arya gave a small shrug.  “I heard a ship came in from Pentos just yesterday.  I’m sure they’ve brought some interesting things.”

That was how it happened that with one week until Sandor’s fifteenth name day, Yora was sat by the fire diligently pushing needle through fabric in an effort to finish his present on time.  To her chagrin, her Uncle Jon and half his small council arrived that week along with their children.

Little Sam and Little Jon were older then and spent their time with Sandor for the most part, but Dickon was not yet nine and filled to the brim with mischievous intent.  Sansa’s fourth child and only son, Rickon, was easily excitable and impressionable.  He clamored for attention from the older boys including Ronel who had gotten quite a beating earlier in the week courtesy of the Lady Yora.

Yora, for her part, was doing a marvelous job at ignoring the boys.  Gendry wanted nothing more than to march across the hall and wallop all three of them, but Arya wouldn’t have it.

“She can deal with it herself.  Leave her be.” Arya settled her hand on his arm.  “We don’t need more trouble.”

So Gendry was left to watch as Dickon yanked the half-finished tunic from Yora’s small hands.  Gendry could see that it was an accident.  Not the snatching it away, but what happened after.  The cloth swung back and the flame of the fireplace caught one of the sleeves.  The fabric didn’t burn right away, but the edge of the sleeve where Yora had sewn grey fur caught and soon the whole tunic was engulfed in flame.  Dickon shouted and cast the remnants into the fire and jumped about patting himself to put out any embers that might have sprang onto him.

Yora sat staring at the fireplace.  Watching her hard work crumble into ashes.  She didn’t say a word.  For a minute, Gendry thought she might cry.  Instead, Yora got to her feet, turned to Dickon and drove her sewing needle through his cheek.  She punched him in the nose before turning to Ronel and catching him between the legs with her foot.  Rickon was still barely four, so Yora merely pushed him over before she walked ever so calmly out of Round Hall and up the tower stairs.

The hall was filled with screaming from the three boys.  Gendry looked over at Arya surprised to find her smiling smugly.  She caught his eye and cocked her brow.

“That’s my daughter.” She declared proudly.

* * *

 

 Arya woke up in the middle of the night.  It was there again.  The overwhelming urge to climb on a boat.  She looked over at Gendry sleeping soundly beneath their furs.  In the glow from the moon, she could see the wisps of grey hair mixed in with his jet black locks.  She stood up out of bed and went to sit at the desk chair by the window.

She had two children who had known little else but happiness in their lives.  Sandor lived in King’s Landing with Jon who was counting the days before he could pass the crown off to his nephew and run away North.  Sandor had ended up married to a wildling.  A pretty girl whose mother and father had made their home in Wintertown after the wars.  Sandor had stayed with his Aunt for six months after he turned sixteen and declared that he would love no one else.

Arya had been reluctant to let her son marry a wildling.  She didn’t know them enough to trust them no matter what Jon said.  That was until she had gotten to know her.  Agla, she was called. She had a voice like silk that spewed nothing but filth.  Arya had taken a shine to her almost immediately.  She could see her son’s fascination.  That it didn’t wane over the four years they were forced to wait before they were allowed to wed told her that their love was real.

Eight years and three grandchildren later, it was obvious that they had made the right choice in agreeing to the union.  Even Yora had married, though she remained in Storm’s End with her husband, Ser Ronel.  The two had gone from sparing together to sneaking off together to steal each other kisses.  Yora once told her that she had to beat Ronel in every match from the time she was ten and he was twelve.  She had confessed that if she ever let him defeat her, she would have to let him kiss her.

Now the two were married and Arya spent her days coddling her new granddaughter.  Little Lyanna who looked as much like Arya as Yora had looked like Sansa.  So small yet, but her first word had been ‘Amma!’  It made Arya’s heart soar and Gendry jealous.

Arya was happy.  She was really _really_ happy.  So the urge to leave was unwarranted.  The innate desire to be somewhere – anywhere else was insane.  She looked over at Gendry.  There was something else there.  Something stronger and sadder. 

_When I leave this time I won’t be back_. That thought startled her.  She had to come back.  She had her family.  Her pack.  She had to come back for them.

But the feeling wouldn’t subside.  It wouldn’t even budge.  _Leave and never return_.  It kept gnawing at her until the sun peeked over the horizon.

“Arya?” Gendry murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m here.”

Gendry stood and came over to her, full naked.  He set his hand on her forehead and tipped his head at her curiously.  “Feeling alright?”

Arya had promised to tell him the next time the urge to leave struck her.  She just didn’t know how to explain to him that this time she didn’t think she’d come back.  Not even for her family.  Something that was breaking her in two.

“I have to leave again.” She whispered.

Gendry stood back and looked at her.  She looked down at her hands.

“Do you know where?”

She shook her head.

“How long?”

Arya started to shrug, but realized that would be too much of a lie even for her.  “Forever?”

Gendry sat back against the window sill.  He ran his hand over his bearded jaw.  Somewhere in the castle, little Lyanna Baratheon woke and began to cry. 

“When?”

Arya shut her eyes, but it did nothing to stop the tears from falling.  “I just need to… I need to do something.  I need to explain to Sandor and Yora.  I can’t explain, but I have to say _something_.  And Sansa and Jon and Bran.”

Gendry nodded slowly.  “Alright.  Yora can take over the Stormlands.  She already does most of the day-to-day anyway.  And she has Ronel now.  He can help her through or Sandor if it gets too much.”  Gendry frowned.  “We’ll miss his coronation.  Jon says he’s only staying another five years before he passes the kingdoms to Sandor.”

“We?”

Gendry gave her an unscrupulous look.  “Yes, _we_.  You don’t think you’re going off on your own again, do you?”

Arya frowned.  “I can take care of myself.  You can stay with our family.”

Gendry shook his head and knelt in front of her, cupping her face between his hands.  “I’m always going to follow you.  Wherever you lead.  I’m behind you.  I love you.  So if you’re leaving to never return, so am I.”

Arya kissed him fiercely the way she always had.  Full of every emotion she never wanted to show.

In the end, they each left letters.  Gendry wrote fewer.  He didn’t feel the need to write to Arya’s siblings.  There was nothing more he could say to them that would be of any more use.  He did write to his son and daughter and each of his four grandchildren.  In writing those letters, he finally understood why Arya had only left him with one word all those years before.  Because every word in the world did not seem enough to express all that he had to say.

Arya wrote to her siblings first.  Sansa and Jon were harder.  To Bran she wrote but one sentence.  Her children and grandchildren were impossible.  It reminded her of being hunched over Gendry’s writing desk in the middle of the night before she left for Essos.  A million thoughts and emotions had sprang into her mind, but her hand had only managed to form one word.  She resolved to do better this time.

They left the letters with Maester Jurne with strict instructions that he was not to deliver them for one year.  Should they return before that time, they would burn the letters and forget they’d ever written them.  If not… well it no longer mattered.

Two weeks were spent between them, preparing a ship and supplies.  Arya knew the voyage would be long and she knew their vague destination would be west.  She did not know how long they would sail or even if they would ever touch land again.  But Gendry would be with her every step and that was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> D&D just keep giving us shit and calling it caviar. Oh well. I hope George learns from their mistakes.


End file.
